Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Nothing beats a week-long getaway with your closest friends. The shared Airbnb, the inside jokes that never got old, the late-night talks that stretched until sunrise, the laughter that echoed through the walls, the games that ended in chaos and tears of laughter—it was the kind of trip you’d remember long after it ended.

After months of planning and endless rescheduling, the group—Oscar, Lando, Max, Charles, Carlos, Alex, Pierre, George and Daniel—had finally managed to make it happen. One cabin, eight adults, one week of freedom from their studies.

It was already nighttime when they arrived. The cabin was perched on a hill overlooking the sea and lake, with moonlight spilling through every window and the faint sound of water humming in the background. 

It was peaceful, almost too peaceful for a group that couldn’t go ten minutes without teasing each other.

They looked around the airbnb, checking for leaks or damages. In the process they had found out that there were 3 rooms, the first had a double bed, the second room had a double bed and a single bed, the third had 3 single beds.

And to worsen it up, counting with the amount of people they had, one among 9 of them would have a double bed all to themselves—first floor and a toilet with it—added to the throne. 

And like all the other fair people in the world, they fought for that throne like a real man.

“UNO!” Lando shouted, throwing his card like it was Excalibur.

George played his card, giving a signal to Alex who was right beside him. Alex nodded and played a reverse card, then George followed up with a +6 card.

Lando froze, mouth falling open. “You guys planned that! That’s cheating!”

Everyone burst out laughing while Lando reluctantly drew his cards, muttering curses under his breath.

Minutes later, Pierre went down on one knee like he was proposing to the universe. “UNO! YAHAHHAHA YOU ALL SUCK!” He yelled, celebrating way too early one must say.

Charles groaned. “Can we all agree on one thing? Let’s sabotage Pierre.” Daniel immediately raised his hands but he was promptly shoved backward by Pierre, crashing onto the tile floor.

The game had turned into a warzone—Charles whispering strategies to Carlos, Daniel trying to peek at Pierre’s cards, Max narrowing his eyes as if doing so would magically change the cards on his hands. Then—

Oscar placed two numbered 6 cards, green and red. 

“Uno, uno game.” 

Silence. Then—chaos.

“NOOOOOOO!” Lando screamed, falling dramatically off the couch. Daniel threw his cards onto the floor in slow motion, screaming like he’d just witnessed tragedy. 

Everyone groaned, tossing their cards into the pile, yelling about rigged systems and rematches.

“Uh…” Oscar blinked. “I don’t have to take the room if—”

George cut him off. “No! A deal’s a deal. Winner takes the throne.”

“Throne?” Alex repeated, face buried into the couch. “He gets a bathroom. That’s royalty.” Alex whines out loud, smashing his head repeatedly against the couch.

“So, since Oscar gets this room. Then all that’s left is the rooms upstairs—“

Daniel was the first to run upstairs, yelling “first come, first serve!” as he sprinted through the hallway. Pierre immediately followed, shouting in French and almost knocking over a lamp in the process. 

“Wha— WAIT! NOT FAIR!” Charles ran after them, then followed Carlos, and well yeah, obviously Daniel too. Lando recorded the chaos on his phone, cackling behind the camera while he chased after them.

Max stood up, muttered something about regretting agreeing to come. Both Max and Oscar left to clean up the mess, Oscar laughed at Max's complaints. After cleaning up the battlefield of cards and chips, Oscar took his luggage into his room.

The only room downstairs while everyone else is upstairs. He walked out to the living room to grab his bag when out of a sudden screams were heard upstairs. Oscar frowns, as he was about to check on the screams—everyone ran down stairs.

And Alex had.. a pigeon on his hands?

“What the hell happened?” Oscar asked, watching Alex open the door and let the bird out carefully.

“Lando left the balcony door open to take pictures,” George explained, “and a bird flew in and pooped on the bed.”

Oscar blinked. “So…?”

“So now Lando doesn’t have a bed.”

“Hey!” Lando’s voice came from the kitchen. “Alex claimed that bed, not me!”

“Yeah, but you’re the idiot who let a pigeon in,” Alex said. “Technically, it’s your fault there’s bird shit on my mattress.”

“We’ll wash it tomorrow,” George said, already walking away. “Until then, you’re out of bed, mate.”

Lando threw his arms up. “And where am I supposed to sleep? I’m not sharing a single bed with any of you.”

“Neither are we,” Max said flatly. “You kick in your sleep.”

“I was a victim,” Pierre added, raising a hand. Lando glared. “That was one time.”

“He can share the bed with me,” everyone turned their head towards Oscar, he smiled awkwardly with the sudden pressure of eyes. “I don’t mind.”

“Really? But you did win that room to yourself,” Lando said, his eyebrows raised.

“There’s no other bed right? And fyi, I didn't even fight for this room, you all were the ones acting like maniacs for it.”

“Right,” everyone nodded and hummed.

George claps happily, “okay great then! Lando will share a room with Oscar! Well thank god you didn’t bring your luggage up yet, huh?” He patted Lando’s shoulder and walked upstairs alongside Alex.

Oscar grabbed his bag, glanced up to see Lando awkwardly standing beside his own luggage.

“What’s wrong? Why are you acting all awkward? I thought that was my thing.” Oscar joked, he smiled when Lando chuckled softly, shoulders tensing down. “Sorry, mate. Should’ve closed the goddamn window, then this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Why do you make it sound like sharing a room with me is the same as eating a poop shaped cake?”

Lando frowned, then laughed, “what's with the choice of comparison?” Adding on, “I bet you’re a great roommate, it’s just that I don’t want you to get awkward nor uncomfortable.”

“You’re overthinking it way too much, Lan. We’ve known each other for 2 years now, don’t you think it’s about time we share a room together?” Oscar chuckled, wearing his backpack and grabbing Lando’s luggage off his grip. Dragging them into the room. 

Lando lingered by the doorway. It wasn’t sharing a room that made his stomach twist — it was the bed.

Sure, he and Oscar had known each other for two years now. But “friends” was a loose word, one born more out of shared circles than choice. They’d always been orbiting the same people, occasionally bumping into each other’s gravity.

It wasn’t that Lando was awkward around him — if anything, it was the opposite. 

When it was just the two of them, conversation came easy. They’d talk about the dumbest things, trade jokes, stories, thoughts — until hours slipped by without either of them noticing. 

They had things in common, but they weren’t alike—that difference made the conversations feel alive. 

But that was always where it ended.

When the group was around, they fell back into their own corners—polite smiles, a quick nod, nothing more. At least that's what Lando feels.

Lando sighed and pushed the thought aside. He stepped into the room, finding Oscar crouched by his bag, rummaging through his things with quiet focus.

It’s fine, Lando told himself. It’s just one night. Just one bed. And it’s not like one night could change everything… right?

WRONG.

Lando must’ve lost his mind to think nothing would happen, because right now, for the first time, he saw Oscar without his hoodie. Plain white tee. Navy pajama pants dotted with tiny stars.

Hair still damp from the shower, sticking to his forehead in soft curls. His cheeks carried the faintest flush—warmth from the water, probably, Lando thought.

Oscar sat down on the bed, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. A towel hung around his shoulders, his hands rubbing through his hair as his eyes focused solely on his phone. 

And he had never looked better. Lando couldn’t tear his eyes off the Aussie, The pale of his skin. The scattered freckles—no, constellations—that trailed down his jaw and neck. The soft curve of his mouth when he read something funny on his screen.

Oscar turned his head. Lando froze. Their eyes met for a split second before panic took over. He coughed—once, awkwardly—and then it turned into a full-on, choking fit. He stumbled off the bed, clutching his chest.

“Mate, are you— you alright?” Oscar blinked, phone forgotten in his hand.

“Yep. I’m fine.” Lando waved his arms like a malfunctioning traffic light, voice strained between coughs. “Just, uh— shower. Gonna— yeah.”

He practically fled, snatching his clothes off the chair and pointing a finger at Oscar in some half-formed gesture of reassurance before ducking into the bathroom. The door shut with a thunk. Silence.

Oscar tilted his head, still watching the door, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Weirdo,” he murmured under his breath.

By the time Lando stepped out of the bathroom, steam billowed around him like fog. He ran a towel through his hair, eyes flicking up to the mirror one last time before facing the battlefield—the bed.

(Dramatically inputs dun dun dunnn)

Oscar was already tucked under the blanket, scrolling through his phone with the bedside lamp still on. His hair had dried into soft waves, and the faint hum of some song vibrated from his lips, low and careless. Lando tried not to stare. Tried.

Well we know how that went. 

“Didn’t think you’d survive in there,” Oscar said without looking up.

“Yeah, well, some of us actually shower longer than three minutes.”

Oscar hummed. “Some of us don’t waste hot water.”

Lando rolled his eyes, tossing the towel over the chair before climbing into bed—on his side, very much on his side. He laid down, back facing Oscar, blanket pulled halfway up, staring at the bathroom door like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.

“I’m going to close the lights now,” Lando hummed. Oscar switched off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness, the only sound the quiet hum of crickets outside and their uneven breaths.

He could feel the warmth radiating off Oscar, just inches away. Hear him breathe. The soft rustle when he shifted. It wasn’t helping. At all. So he tries to sleep it off.

Lando closes his eyes, now realizing that he in fact has insomnia. FUCK MY LIFE, he clenched onto the blanket, internally screaming and sobbing. 

Minutes passed. Maybe hours. The room was quiet except for the soft, steady rhythm of Oscar’s breathing. Is he asleep?Lando wondered, rolling over carefully until he faced Oscar’s back face.

Oscar stirred slightly—brows furrowing, then relaxing again—before his eyes fluttered open. Lando froze. His heart jumped to his throat, gripping the blanket tighter, desperately pretending to be invisible.

Oscar closed his eyes, not hiding the fact that he was indeed tired. “Can’t sleep?” He asked, his voice coming out more like a whisper.

Lando hummed, “stupid insomnia, i forgot to pack my melatonins.” 

Oscar hummed, the sound low and lazy, before pushing himself upright. The bed shifted under his weight as he leaned over the edge, rummaging through his bag at the corner of the room.

Lando blinked at him, sitting up, brows drawn in quiet confusion.

When Oscar returned to the bed—back pressed against the headboard—he had an old iPod in his hand. He placed it between them, untangling a pair of wired earphones with careful fingers. Then, wordlessly, he offered one end to Lando.

Lando hesitated. Oscar raised an eyebrow. The silent come on in his eyes made Lando sigh softly and take it. He slid the earbud in, watching as Oscar thumbed the iPod’s wheel. A faint click.

Soft, echoing notes began to fill the air.

> playing “About You” — The 1975

Oscar shifted, scooting a few inches closer—enough to allow their shoulders to brush against one another. Oscar placed the ipod facing down on his lap. 

“Music usually helps calm me down,” he broke the silence.

Oscar turned to look sideways, finding Lando already looking at him with a soft smile. Moonlight spilled through the slit in the curtain, catching on his cheekbones, the faint sheen of his damp hair.

“Really? Wired earphones?”

Oscar blinked, feigning offense. “Hm? What? It’s hard to lose them, plus, they have infinite battery power.” 

Lando huffed out a small laugh, shaking his head. “You sound like my granddad.” 

Oscar smiled faintly, shoulders rising and falling. The silence that followed wasn’t awkward—it was warm, stretched between the hum of the song and the quiet rhythm of their breathing.

“What’s the title?” Lando asked, voice soft.

“About you, by The 1975.”

“Like, the year?”

Oscar hummed, Lando echoed the sound, a lazy hum. His gaze dropped to his hands twisting the edge of the blanket. “What’s it about?”

Oscar hesitated, thinking. His voice came out slower this time, thoughtful. “It’s about someone you can’t quite let go of. Even when you think you have.” He looked down at the iPod, thumb tracing its edge. 

“It’s that kind of love that’s over, but still lingers. You’ve moved on—but something small always pulls you back. A song, a place, a smell… and suddenly you remember.”

He paused, breath catching a little. “You remember how it felt to love them. The version of you that existed because of them. It’s like… standing in the memory, knowing it’s gone but missing it anyway.”

The melody swelled, soft and distant.

“Matty said once it’s kind of a sequel to Robbers,” Oscar continued quietly. “Same story, years later. The chaos is gone. Everything’s softer now. But the ache’s still there.”

He let the words fade into the quiet hum of the song. “It’s that feeling of thinking, ‘You’ll always be a part of me, even if we never speak again.’”

He turned his head slightly, ready to see what Lando would say next—only to find him leaning against the headboard, eyes closed, breathing even.

A faint smile curved Oscar’s lips. He adjusted the blanket over Lando’s shoulder, the shared earbud still tucked in place.

“Goodnight, Loops,” he whispered.

The morning light was soft, pale, and peaceful. Or at least, it had been—until the sound of two very off-key voices shattered the calm.

“🎵 BABY, BABY, BABY—OH! 🎵”

Lando groaned before his brain was even fully awake. His eyebrows scrunched, and he buried his face deeper into whatever his cheek was pressed against. Warm. Soft. Steady breathing under his ear.

Huh?

His eyes fluttered open. The first thing he saw was the hem of a white t-shirt, then the slow rise and fall of a chest. Lando’s brain stuttered, completely freezing as realization hit him—he had fallen asleep on Oscar’s shoulder.

Actually, not just the shoulder—he was practically leaning into him, arm half-draped across Oscar’s stomach like some kind of koala.

“🎵 LIKE, BABY, BABY, BABY—NOOO! 🎵”

George’s voice cracked so horribly it could have shattered glass. Lando jerked upright on instinct, nearly ripping the earbud from his ear.

“Jesus—,” he rasped, blinking at the light streaming through the curtains. His hair stuck up in all directions.

Beside him, Oscar stirred with a quiet groan. “...Is someone being murdered, or is that George?” His morning voice was low, raspy, still thick with sleep.

“Both, probably,” Lando muttered, trying very hard not to think about how warm Oscar looked, or how soft his voice sounded when he was half-asleep.

Outside their door, Daniel’s voice joined in, loud and dramatically high-pitched. “🎵 THOUGHT YOU’D ALWAYS BE MIIINE—MIIINE! 🎵”

Oscar sighed deeply, running a hand down his face. “I should’ve known giving them access to the speaker was a mistake.”

Lando snorted and moved to get out of bed, but his arm brushed against Oscar’s. It was a small, fleeting touch—still, it sent a spark of awareness down his spine. He froze.

Oscar glanced up at him, sleep still clinging to his features, his hair sticking out in soft curls. “Morning,” he said simply, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

Lando blinked, staring at him a second too long. “Uh—morning.” He scrambled off the bed, pretending to fix the blanket. “You, uh, snore by the way.”

Oscar gave him a look that clearly said yeah right. “Sure I do.”

“Totally. Loudest snore I’ve ever heard.”

A beat. Then, in that same calm, teasing tone, Oscar replied, “You drool.”

Lando’s jaw dropped. “I do not!”

Oscar smirked, slipping out of bed, stretching lazily. “You do. A little. I almost drowned.”

“WHAT—”

Before Lando could finish, another chorus of “🎵 BABY, BABY, BABY—OOH! 🎵” erupted from down the hall, followed by the unmistakable crash of something falling over and Pierre yelling in French.

Oscar grabbed his hoodie off the chair, shaking his head with a sleepy laugh. “Come on. Let’s go stop whatever war they just started.”

Lando groaned but followed him out, his mind still replaying the way Oscar’s shoulder had felt beneath his cheek. And though he’d never admit it out loud, it was easily the best sleep he’d had in months.

The moment the door swung open, chaos practically exploded into the room. 

Daniel was on the floor in a headlock courtesy of Pierre, yelling something that definitely wasn’t English, while Charles was sprinting after George—pan in hand—swinging like his life depended on it.

Lando blinked once. Twice. “Holy shit…” he muttered, voice still thick with sleep. Then, deadpan— “this is going to be one hell of a week.”

The chaos eventually settled—well, as much as it could with them. 

Charles finally put the pan down after Pierre bribed him with pancakes, Daniel escaped Pierre’s grip only to steal bacon off Carlos’s plate, and Max sat at the far end of the couch pretending not to know any of them.

Plates clinked, mugs of coffee passed around, the smell of toast and butter filling the air. The living room looked like a half-finished breakfast buffet—food everywhere, everyone talking over each other.

Then George, ever the planner, clapped his hands. “Alright! Settle down, starving people. I have something to show you.”

A collective groan echoed.

“Oh god, not another PowerPoint,” Alex mumbled, mouth full of croissant.

“Yes! That’s right, Alex! Another PowerPoint!” George declared proudly, connecting his laptop to the TV. The screen lit up with a title slide that read in bold Comic Sans:

“THE ULTIMATE VACATION ITINERARY — by George (and Daniel, not really)”

“What in the world?” Lando mumbled, rubbing his forehead.

Daniel stood beside George, arms crossed and chin up like a proud co-founder. “I made the cover slide,” he said.

“You chose Comic Sans,” Max muttered under his breath.

George ignored him, clicking to the next slide that showed a color-coded timeline. “So, today’s plan: breakfast—done. Then we head to the lake for paddle boards and swimming. Lunch at the docks, then free time before dinner.”

“Do we have to follow this?” Pierre asked, sipping orange juice like a defiant five-year-old.

“Yes, Pierre,” George said with a forced smile. “Otherwise, this entire operation falls apart.”

“Operation?” Lando raised an eyebrow, still half-asleep beside Oscar on the couch.

George clicked again. “Operation: Fun Without Chaos.”

Everyone harmonized yet again, groaning like their life depends on it.

Daniel leaned into the mic of George’s laptop dramatically. “Mission: Already failed.”

Laughter broke out across the room, even George cracked a smile.

Charles leaned closer to Lando, voice low enough for only him to hear. “You think he actually rehearsed that?”

Lando smirked, eyes still on the screen. “Knowing George? He probably had a test run last night.”

“Twice,” Charles guessed.

They both snorted quietly as George proudly moved on to slide five—“Team Assignments: Because You Lot Can’t Be Trusted.”

Activities for the day:

🔲First activity: paddle boarding;swimming

🔲Second activity: lunch at dock

🔲Third activity: rent a bike 

🔲Fourth activity: Pizza for dinner 

First activity: paddle boarding.

“Dude, how do you even—CONTROL THIS THING—!”

Carlos’s voice cracked halfway through the sentence before his paddleboard tilted violently to the side. A splash followed, loud and dramatic, sending a wave that knocked Charles clean off his board too.

“CARLOS!” Charles came up sputtering, hair plastered to his face, “fucking hell, mate!” 

Carlos surfaced beside him, grinning like a soaked golden retriever. “I didn’t fall, I strategically dismounted!”

“Yeah? Your ‘strategy’ almost drowned me!” Charles splashed water at him in revenge, to which Carlos only laughed harder, spitting out a mouthful of lake water.

Meanwhile, a few meters away, Pierre was somehow still upright—barely. “You know what? Hell yeah, I’m getting the hang of this,” he said, wobbling like a penguin on ice. His paddle dipped into the water in slow, unsure strokes, barely moving the board.

Lando and Max shared a look, identical smirks forming.

Without a word, Max shifted direction, gliding over to Pierre with perfect control. Lando followed, already snickering.

“Hey, Pierre! Nice technique, man!” Max called out.

Pierre beamed. “See? I told you! Natural talent—”

He didn’t get to finish. Max’s paddle nudged the tail of Pierre’s board—just a tiny push—but it was enough. 

The board tilted, and in one glorious, slow-motion moment, Pierre’s arms flailed wildly before he toppled into the water with a scream that echoed across the lake. Splash.

Lando completely lost it, doubled over laughing so hard his board started tipping. “DUDE—HIS FACE—OH MY GOD!”

But the wave Pierre created didn’t stop there—it rolled across the lake, hitting Oscar and George mid-race. Their boards wobbled violently before both went down with twin splashes.

“FOR GOD’S SAKE!” George yelled between laughs.

Oscar resurfaced calmly, wiping water from his eyes. “We’re surrounded by children.”

The water erupted with laughter and chaos. Daniel was recording from the dock, cackling like a proud director filming his masterpiece. “This is gold! I’m putting this in the trip montage!”

Lando tried to regain balance, still laughing, but his board tilted dangerously as Pierre resurfaced and smacked the side of it. “REVENGE!” Pierre yelled, sending another wave right into Lando’s face.

Lando gasped, coughing up lake water. “You—evil—goblin!”

Oscar popped up beside them, hair dripping, shaking his head but smiling. “You two are impossible.”

“Team bonding!” Lando declared, throwing water back at Pierre.

Oscar smirked. “Yeah? Then bond with the bottom of the lake.”

Before Lando could react, Oscar flipped his board in one swift motion. Another huge splash.

Everyone went wild. Even Max—normally too busy admiring Charles—was laughing so hard he almost fell himself.

Daniel zoomed in with his camera. “Oh my god, I love friendship,” he said with mock sincerity.

Lando surfaced again, gasping but smiling. “That’s it, Piastri. You’re going down.”

“Oh yeah?” Oscar grinned. “Catch me first.”

He turned his board and started paddling away with surprising speed. Lando blinked, then grinned, eyes lighting up like a challenge had just been issued. “Oh, it’s on.”

And then came the chase.

Lando splashed after Oscar, both shouting and laughing, their boards slicing through the sunlight-sparkled water. 

Daniel, meanwhile, had dropped the phone and was now dancing on the dock, holding the speaker high above his head like it was the Top Gun beach scene come to life.

The song changed seamlessly—“I Ain’t Worried” by OneRepublic.

🎵 I don’t know what you’ve been told… 🎵 

The music mixed with their laughter, the splashing, the sun glaring off the water. Charles tackled Pierre off his board, George tried (and failed miserably) to dunk Max, and Daniel shouted something about needing champagne for this.

Oscar turned to glance back mid-paddle—Lando was still chasing, hair soaked, grin wide, eyes bright. And for a moment, it felt like a movie. Like they were young, stupid, and infinite.

Just sun, water, music, and the sound of their laughter echoing off the lake—A perfect, messy summer that would never come again, but they’d remember it forever.

🎵 I ain’t worried ‘bout it right now 🎵

The line hit just right. And for once, none of them were.

Activities for the day:

✅First activity: paddle boarding;swimming

✅Second activity: lunch at dock

🔲Third activity: rent a bike 

🔲Fourth activity: Pizza for dinner 

Third activity: rent a bike 

By the time the lake had calmed down again, the group was sprawled out across the dock like a pile of overcooked noodles—hair dripping, cheeks flushed, clothes sticking to their skin. 

The speaker still hummed faintly in the background, now playing something soft and summery as Daniel scrolled through the footage on his phone, grinning to himself like a proud film director.

“Alright, movie stars,” George clapped his hands, standing in front of the group like a camp counselor, “hydration breaks over. Next on the agenda—bike ride through town!”

“I thought you said we’d have free time,” Lando whined.

“Well, this wasn’t my idea—“

“IT WAS MINEE!!!” Carlos cut George off, all excited and jumpy. If there is one thing Carlos loved more than his girlfriend, Rebecca, was riding a bike.

Pierre groaned dramatically, still lying flat on his back. “Of course it’s your idea.”

“C’MON, C’MON.” Carlos cheered. “Do we look like we can move?” Max cursed, head dropping back.

Lando, already halfway through a can of monster, raised his hand. “I volunteer to drive the support car.” Carlos ignored him. “Everyone’s riding, no excuses! Come on, this is peak summer content!”

A few hours later, they were all gathered outside a small rental shop by the beach, each picking out bikes that somehow matched their personalities too perfectly—like it was somehow meant to happen—at least that's what Carlos believes.

Charles got a sleek black road bike, obviously. Pierre chose matching pastel-colored ones just to annoy him. Daniel picked the one with a basket, immediately filling it with snacks.
Max claimed the mountain bike with suspicious confidence.

And then there was Lando and Oscar—side by side, both trying to act normal after their little paddleboard chase earlier, though neither could look at the other for more than two seconds without smiling.

“Uh guys, don’t you feel like these bikes are quite different from the ones back home. Because getting on this shit is hard.”

“That’s because you suck, Alex. I told you to pick something else,” George teased, tightening the strap of his helmet.

“Wha— that’s not! Look!” Alex points at Lando who was struggling to get on his bike, “he can barely even stand—look he’s literally tip-toeing.” Lando looked up, “huh? You talking about me?— FUCK! I FORGOT MY HELMET!”

Max laughed at him, Carlos rode past him, now circling around the area while he waits for everyone else. While Lando struggled to get off his bike, Oscar came over with a helmet—proping it on him. 

“There you go, your savior.” Daniel teased and rode off together with Carlos.

Lando flipped him off, watching as Oscar adjusted the helmet. “You sure you can ride this?” Oscar teased, tightening the strap of his helmet.

Lando shot him a look. “I feel judged and insulted right now.” Oscar snorted, tapping the top of the helmet, Lando groaned at the impact. “I swear, I'll push you into a hedge.”

“You’ll fall into a hedge yourself before even reaching me, watch out Lando Norris.” Oscar winked, riding off. Leaving Lando stunned, what the fuck was that? He blinked, then again. Then—

“Dude stop being gay and hurry up,” George called out, Lando snapped out of it. “You’re gay,” Lando glared but a smile was printed on his face.

They set off in a loose pack down the coastal path, the late afternoon sun dipping lower in the sky. The road ran alongside the water, wind rushing past their faces, the air filled with the smell of salt and sunscreen.

Carlos led the way with Daniel right beside him, blasting songs from the speaker in his basket. George and Pierre were riding side by side, weaving like absolute menaces.

Lando pedaled beside Oscar, their bikes close enough that the handlebars nearly brushed. The breeze carried the scent of salt and sunscreen, the sound of laughter echoing up the road.

“Look at Charles—he’s not even pretending to look at the road,” Lando said, nodding ahead.

Oscar followed his gaze, chuckling when he saw it. Charles was coasting right next to Max, who was admiring the view with that calm, unbothered expression he always had. 

Charles, on the other hand, was admiring Max—with a smile so wide it was a miracle he hadn’t fallen off yet.

Oscar grinned. “Tragic. Man’s one corner away from proposing.”

Lando snorted, barely keeping his balance. “And yet they both still don’t believe us when we tell them that they’re head over heels for one another.”

Oscar tilted his head behind them. “Look behind, and you’ll find Alex trying to communicate with the birds passing by us.” 

Lando turned around, only to find Alex riding one-handed, pointing up at the sky, talking to a flock of birds as if he were auditioning for a Disney movie.

“Oh my god,” Lando wheezed, “he’s actually trying to communicate.”

They both burst into laughter—loud, unfiltered, the kind that made your stomach hurt. Lando nearly veered off the path, ducking his head down as he tried to steady himself again.

When the laughter finally died down, Lando exhaled, a small smile still tugging at his lips. “This is actually kinda nice,” he admitted, glancing sideways.

Oscar kept his eyes on the road but turned just enough for Lando to catch the curve of his smile. “Kinda? You’re grinning like an idiot.”

“Shut up,” Lando muttered—but didn’t stop smiling.

For a while, they rode in comfortable silence, the sound of tires on gravel and waves crashing against the shore filling the quiet. 

Then Lando spoke, “we brought the sheets back from the laundry. I’ll finally have a clean mattress with no bird shit tonight.” 

He glances sideways again, trying to read Oscar’s expression. Lando didn’t know why he felt nervous to hear his reply, but he was. 

“Mm,” Oscar hummed, then added. “Do you think birds get embarrassed pooping out in the open air?”

Lando blinked, thrown off—then laughed so hard he nearly hit a bush. “Is that seriously what’s on your mind right now?”

Oscar shrugged, straight-faced. “You never wondered?”

“Never!” Lando said through laughter, shaking his head as he looked back toward the sea. “You’re insane.”

“Maybe,” Oscar replied lightly, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he looked at him.

Lando shook his head and looked sideways to the scenery, oblivious to the gaze right beside him. They rode like that for a while—side by side, laughter fading into something quieter, softer. Just the sound of their wheels, the sea breeze, and the sunset stretching endlessly ahead of them.

When the path opened up into a hill overlooking the ocean, Daniel yelled, “LAST ONE DOWN BUYS DINNER!”

Instant chaos.

Max shot forward instantly, Charles right on his tail. Pierre tried to cut George off and nearly fell into a bush. Lando and Oscar exchanged one quick look before both took off, racing side by side down the slope, wind whipping through their hair, laughter mixing with the rush of wheels on pavement.

For a moment, it didn’t feel real—the sunset behind them, the sea glittering below, their friends’ laughter echoing through the air. Just them, chasing the wind, the world wide open ahead.

By the time they reached the bottom, breathless and laughing, Daniel came rolling down last, both hands in the air. “Worth it! I’m buying nobody dinner!”

“Because you forgot your wallet again?” Pierre called.

“Exactly!”

The group broke into laughter again.

The sky had started to melt into oranges and pinks, the sound of the sea soft in the distance mixed with the sound of summer wrapping around them like the last light of the day.

Activities for the day:

✅First activity: paddle boarding;swimming

✅Second activity: lunch at dock

✅Third activity: rent a bike 

✅Fourth activity: Pizza for dinner 

The night came faster than anyone expected.

Lando had just finished swapping out the mattress cover—fresh from the laundry, still warm from the dryer. 

He flopped face-first onto the bed, sinking into the smell of clean cotton. God, nothing beats this smell, he thought. The kind that makes your brain go fuzzy in the best way.

The clock on the wall blinked 11:29 p.m. Everyone else was long gone—completely wrecked from a whole day out on the lake. The combination of sunshine, waves, and way too much food had taken them all down like tranquilizers.

He turned to his right. George and Alex were out cold in their shared room—sprawled across their beds like starfish, snoring loud enough to scare Peppa Pig into retirement.

Lando smothered a laugh, tiptoeing out before one of them started sleep-talking again. He made his way downstairs, feet light against the creaking wood. His luggage. He’d left it in Oscar’s room earlier that day.

The plan was simple: sneak in, grab the suitcase, sneak out. No noise, no awkwardness, no accidental eye contact. But, of course, life had other plans.

He opened the door—and froze. Oscar was awake, propped up against the headboard, that same relaxed posture he always had when he was reading or scrolling his phone. 

Wired earphones in, hair a bit messy, a soft glow from the lamp painting his features gold. 

Their eyes met. Oscar blinked, then tugged one earphone out, head tilting slightly. “Hey,” he said, voice soft, like he didn’t want to wake the world.

“My, uh—my luggage,” Lando blurted, pointing at the suitcase by the closet like it was a crime scene.

Oscar’s lips parted slightly in understanding. “Oh—right.” He shifted, a small ‘oh’ leaving his mouth. His shoulders relaxed, though for a fleeting second, Lando swore he caught something else there. 

Something that looked a lot like disappointment—but maybe that was just his overactive brain. Or the sugar crash from the ten marshmallows he’d roasted earlier.

“You can just leave it here,” Oscar said after a beat, voice low and warm. “It’s late. You should rest up, especially if you’re roommates with the morning devil himself.”

Lando snorted quietly. “Yeah, right.” He rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish. “Guess I’ll just keep this here for now then.”

Oscar nodded, that small smile still tugging at the corner of his lips. “Yeah.”

Lando stepped back toward the door, fingers curling around the knob. “Goodnight,” he said, trying to sound casual, but it came out softer than he meant.

Oscar met his gaze. “Goodnight, Lando.”

For a second, neither of them moved. Just the quiet hum of the night and the faint sound of whatever song was still playing through Oscar’s one earbud. Then Lando closed the door gently behind him.

Chapter Text

It started with Lady Gaga.

Lando didn’t know which song at first—only that the opening synth hit like a slap to the soul. The kind of sound that dragged you from the depths of sleep whether you liked it or not.

Then came the voices. Loud, off-key, and painfully familiar.

“🎵 I’M IN LOVE WITH JUDA—AS, JUDA—AS 🎵”

Daniel. Definitely Daniel.

“🎵 OH-OH-OH-OH-OH, I’M IN LOVE WITH JUDA—AS, JUDA—AS!!! 🎵”

George, right behind him, his pitch wobbling like a car on gravel.

And then—oh god—Alex joined in, one octave too high, absolutely committed. The three of them were outside again, right by the door, using the same portable speaker from hell.

Lando groaned, shoving his face into the pillow. 

But something was off. The sound was louder—way louder than it was supposed to be. Like the speaker was inches away instead of downstairs.

He shifted, squinting at the room around him. Wait—why did the light look different? Why were the walls the wrong color? And why was his pillow so… firm?

He blinked. Slowly turned his head. And froze. He wasn’t on his bed. He wasn’t even on his floor. He was in Oscar’s room. 

More specifically—he was on Oscar.

His head was tucked right into Oscar’s shoulder, his arm draped halfway across Oscar’s chest like he was auditioning for a rom-com. Oscar was still asleep, breathing steady, hair a mess against the pillow.

Lando’s soul left his body. His brain short-circuited—panic, horror, and something dangerously close to warmth hitting all at once.

“Oh—oh my god—” he whispered, trying to pull away quietly. But in true Lando fashion, quietly wasn’t in his skill set. His arm got caught in the blanket, the blanket caught the pillow, and before he knew it—

THUD.

He rolled right off the bed and onto the floor.

Oscar jerked awake, startled. “What the—Lando?”

From outside, Daniel’s voice blared through the door.

“🎵 I’LL BRING HIM DOWN, I’LL BRING HIM DOWN DOWN 🎵”

“What the fuck,” Lando scrambled up, hair wild, heart pounding. “Why am I here?!” Oscar blinked, half-awake, his voice still rough from sleep. “Do you sleepwalk?”

“I don’t know!” Lando yelled, because Lady Gaga was now vibrating through the door. “But this is weird!”

Oscar rubbed his face, muttering, “jesus—why do they have to choose this song out of any other song.” 

Just as the chorus hit again and Daniel’s voice cracked in what could only be described as a spiritual experience. 

Lando rubbed his head, half awake and too confused to comprehend how he’d ended up in Oscar’s bed. His curls were a mess, his brain foggy, and for a second he genuinely wondered if he was still dreaming.

He narrowed his eyes, trying to piece together the night before. 

After going upstairs, he’d tossed and turned for hours, unable to sleep without his melatonin. Then—darkness. He vaguely remembered walking in his dream, but who doesn’t? Everyone walks in dreams.

Except this time, apparently, he actually did and ended up.. here.

Oscar, meanwhile, didn’t seem to mind. He just looked like he was trying hard to negotiate with consciousness. His eyes stayed closed, expression caught between peaceful and done with everything (well maybe done with Alex, Daniel and George).

“🎵 I’M STILL IN LOVE WITH JUDAS, BABYYYY 🎵”

Oscar groaned, dragging a hand down his face before rolling onto his back, voice muffled against the pillow. “I’m going to destroy that speaker—“

“🎵 I’M IN LOVE WITH JUDAS— 🎵”

(Cut)

Charles sat slumped over a mug of coffee, eyes half-open, hair sticking up like he’d been electrocuted. Carlos was next to him, face buried in his arms, mumbling something in Spanish that vaguely sounded like a prayer. Max hadn’t even bothered with a shirt, just sitting there blankly, spoon in hand, not actually eating anything. 

And then there was Lando—hunched over his plate, hair messy, eyes wide with trauma. Every time someone said “Gaga,” he flinched. Like full on body flinching. 

Oscar grabbed some milk, placing it in front of Lando with a smile. “Have some,” Lando turned to him, somewhat still embarrassed at how he somehow woke up in his bed. Swearing that he had never sleepwalk before.

“Thanks,” Lando thanked softly. Oscar nodded once, then got back to blowing his tea.

Everyone except George, Daniel, and Alex looked like they’d just survived a natural disaster.

Across the kitchen, in the living room, George stood proudly in front of the TV, laptop hooked up, clicker in hand. 

Daniel stood beside him for another credit score, oh and maybe also to make sure the slide transitions had sound effects. Alex was on toast duty, somehow way too cheerful.

George cleared his throat, pressing the clicker with purpose.

“Alright, team!” he said, voice way too bright for 8:00 a.m. “Welcome to Day two of the Ultimate Vacation Experience! Let’s go over today’s schedule.”

No one responded.

Daniel whispered into the mic like a game show host, “They’re thrilled, George.”

George ignored him and clicked again. A new slide popped up: ‘TODAY’S ADVENTURE: CLIFF DIVING & SUNSET BBQ!’ complete with star emojis and an image of a stick figure jumping off a cliff.

Carlos groaned into his arms. “You’re joking.”

“Nope!” George beamed. “Transportation leaves at ten! Then we head straight to the cliffs. Water depth is verified safe, and we’ll have lunch by the shore!”

“Define safe,” Oscar raised his eyebrows.

“Safe-ish,” Daniel said cheerfully, sipping his orange juice. “I checked it myself!”

Charles blinked slowly, unimpressed. “You fell off your paddleboard five times yesterday.”

“Research,” Daniel said.

Lando stared blankly at the TV, still processing life. “Can I… not jump off a cliff?”

George clapped his hands. “No can do, mate! Team bonding!”

Oscar finally looked up from his tea, deadpan. “Last time we did ‘team bonding,’ George nearly drowned because Alex declared war.”

“That was yesterday,” Alex said through a mouthful of cereal. “Different day, different trauma.”

Daniel grinned. “That’s the spirit!”

George clicked the final slide—confetti animation, naturally. “Alright, gang, breakfast up, sunscreen on, let’s seize the day!”

The room stayed dead silent.

Charles finally muttered, “If I jump off that cliff, it’ll be to escape you morning monsters.”

Max raised his mug in agreement. “Cheers to that.”

Daniel just smiled wider. “Oh, they love us.”

Then the speaker came back to life.

“🎵 I’M IN LOVE WITH JUDAS… 🎵”

Lando let his forehead fall onto the table with a soft thud. “I can’t live like this.”

Beside him, Oscar let out a small laugh. Lando turned his head just enough to glare at him from under his curls. Oscar lifted one hand in surrender, still smiling.

But then, almost absentmindedly, that same hand came down to Lando’s hair.

Oscar froze halfway through the motion, eyes wide. Lando blinked, staring at him in stunned silence, the tips of both their ears turning a very obvious shade of red.

Oscar instantly withdrew his hand like he’d touched fire, clearing his throat. “Uh— sorry, I—”

Lando shot upright at the same time, nearly knocking over his chair. “No, yeah, it’s fine! Totally fine!” He coughed once, awkwardly. Twice, for good measure.

“Uh, I’m, gonna go get dressed— washed. I’m gonna go get washed,” he blurted out, already backing away.

Oscar nodded too quickly. “Oh, yeah, me too, same. Uh, you can use my bathroom if you want to?”

“Oh— yeah, uh, thanks. Will do!”

They both tried to move at once, did a little side-to-side shuffle trying to get past each other, muttering “sorry” and “no, you go” at the same time before finally managing to part ways.

It was clumsy, awkward, and about ten seconds too long—but as Lando escaped. He ran into the room, closed the door, and jumped onto the bed. A pause. Then he screamed into the pillow.

Activities for the day:

✅First activity: cliff diving 

🔲Second activity: sunset bbq

🔲Third activity: Mario party 

Sunset BBQ.

After a long day collectively jumping off the cliff and swimming around, the time the sun began to dip behind the hills, the air smelled like salt, charcoal, and sunscreen. 

The group had set up their little sunset BBQ spot right by the lake—a couple of foldable chairs, a speaker blasting throwback summer songs, Alex and Daniel at the grill wearing an apron that said “Kiss the Cook (Pierre)” in bold letters.

Pierre was, of course, the one who gifted it. And was currently laughing his head off every time they proudly posed with it.

“Okay, burgers are ready!” Daniel announced dramatically, holding the spatula high like it was a sword. “Michelin-star chef, right here!”

“You’re taking all the credits again,” Alex shoved him out the way. Daniel scoffed, “just so you know, I grilled half of this meat.”

“You grilled 4/10 of this meat and 2 of them are burnt,” Alex replied, laughing while gesturing to Daniel to hand out the burger.

“If any of it gets food poisoning, its 100% Daniel’s fault.” Max muttered under his breath, earning a snort from Lando and a mock gasp from Daniel.

“EXCUSE YOU, no one will get food poisoning. The only thing I'll be poisoning is your hearts from how warm and delicious my meat are.”

Everyone booed, “GROSSSS.” Max screamed, Daniel poked the side of his stomach, making him scream and laugh, then he placed the burger on the table.

The scene was painted in gold—the water shimmering with the reflection of the sun, the sound of laughter floating between the trees. 

Someone switched the speaker to “Tongue Tied” by Grouplove, and the whole vibe shifted instantly. The opening guitar riff spilled out of the speaker, bright and reckless, cutting through the lazy hum of conversation.

Lando was sitting at the edge of the dock, shoes kicked off, toes skimming the water. He closed his eyes and breathed in, the sound of laughing and singing muffled behind him.

It was everything he had ever dreamt of, eating BBQ with the people you love, the fresh smell of lake, warm—yet cool breeze. It was calming, well not the Cliff diving part of today, because that did in fact feel like they were training for the military.

The amount of time George screamed—“C’MON GUYS, HURRY UP! LETS GO LETS GO LETS GO!”—was actually insane.

But it was worth it, everything is always worth it if you look at it from the bright side. Oscar came over a moment later with two cans of soda, “seat taken?” Lando looked up, one eye squinting from the sun setting.

He smiled and shook his head, “all yours.” Oscar kicked off his sandals and sat down, dipping his legs onto the warm water—handing one of the soda to Lando without a word.

“Peace offering,” he said simply, nodding toward Lando’s drink. Lando smirked, taking it. “From what crime?”

“Existing in the kitchen earlier,” Oscar replied. Lando choked out a laugh. “Yeah, well. I’m still traumatized.” They both smiled — small, easy, real. Then turned back towards the group, 

“🎵 DON’T TAKE ME TONGUE TIEDDDD 🎵”

“🎵 DONT WAVE NO GOODBYE 🎵”

Max and Daniel put up a show, using the thongs as their microphone. Lando laughed out loud, taking out his phone to capture the moment. He looked down at the picture, leg swinging and kicking the lake water.

A moment passed where neither spoke. 

Lando glanced sideways, sneaking a look. The music blended with the sounds of their friends shouting over who burned the corn, the light flickered across Oscar’s face, and the smell of grilled food mixed with the cool lake air.

“Sorry for uh, this morning. I didn’t know how I’d even ended up there.”

Oscar leaned back on his hands, gaze fixed on the sunset. Then there was his teasing smile, “maybe cause i’m a comfortable pillow.” Lando nudged him with a reply, dramatically groaning and rolling his eyes.

Oscar let out a laugh, “don’t worry about it, Lando. I really don’t mind,” he turned sideways, “promise.”

Lando stared, maybe it was the location they were set on—or maybe it was the effect of the amount of canned beer he had. But he felt the warmth travel up to his cheek. 

It was weird, he thought. Because just a few days ago the only thing they've said to each other was “Good morning” “is this your luggage?” “How’s your trip here?” “Oh, thank you” and nothing more. 

But now here they were, aside from the group, just two of them on the sidelines. 

“Kinda feels like we’re in a music video,” Lando said quietly, looking down at the water. Oscar tilted his head. “Yeah? What song?”

Lando thought for a moment, then smiled. “Something that feels good. You know—warm, a little stupid, but in the best way.” Oscar hummed, nodding with a smile.

“Hey, you two! Stop making out on the sidelines and get back here!” Carlos yelled over the music, one hand waving dramatically while the other latched onto Lando’s arm.

Lando burst out laughing, nearly tripping as Carlos yanked him up from where he was sitting. “We weren’t—!” he started to protest, but it was pointless—Carlos was already hauling him toward the group.

Still laughing, Lando reached back without thinking, fingers catching around Oscar’s wrist to pull him along too. Oscar stumbled forward, trying—and failing—not to smile. 

Then they joined the others—laughing, shouting, tripping over each other. The song filled the air, the sky burned orange, and for a few golden minutes, nothing else existed. No awkward mornings, no weird tension, no thoughts beyond now.

Just all of them—messy, loud, alive and together—under the sunset that made everything glow like summer never had to end.

Activities for the day:

✅First activity: cliff diving 

✅Second activity: sunset bbq

🔲Third activity: Mario party 

The night settled soft and warm around the cabin, windows cracked open to let in the faint hum of crickets and the smell of the lake. 

Inside, the living room glowed golden—fairy lights tangled around curtain rods, a few empty pizza boxes littered the coffee table, and the faint buzz of the TV filled the air.

“Alright, losers,” George announced, sitting cross-legged on the floor, controller in hand. 

“Winner gets to choose the itinerary for tomorrow. Loser—” his eyes flicked to Alex “—does the dishes.”

“The hell are you looking at me for?!” Alex coughed in offense, already gripping his controller like a weapon. “I’m not losing this again.”

Max laughed from the couch, half sprawled over a pillow. “You say that every night, mate, and yet here we are.”

The character select screen popped up. Lando walked from the kitchen, chewing what seems to be Kinder eggs. He sat down at the couch, legs folded up. He scrolled through the options dramatically. 

“You know what? I’m feeling Toad tonight. He’s fast, fearless—like me.”

Oscar snorted from the carpet, turning his head. “Fast, maybe. Fearless? You screamed when George threw a banana peel last round.” Lando stuck his tongue out.

Max and Charles were perched on the other side of the carpet, Charles insisting on explaining the “superior” racing line for the fifth time. 

Carlos was half-listening, half-texting someone, and Alex was already halfway through a bag of popcorn, handing out commentary like a sports commentator.

As the countdown started—3… 2… 1… GO!—the room erupted.

“WHO THE HELL THREW THAT SHELL?! MAX I’M GOING TO KILL YOU.”

“OSCAR, YOU’RE BLOCKING ME!”

“GEORGE, MOVE YOUR BIG HEAD—”

“ALEX, YOUR STUPID— UGHHHH”

“BITCH!” George yelled, mouth full of pizza.

1st: Alex

2nd: Charles

3rd: Max

4th: George

5th: Oscar

6th: Pierre

7th: Carlos

8th: Daniel

9th: Lando

Alex stood up, throwing his controller into the couch. “LET’S FUCKING GOOO! SUCK ON THAT BITCHES! I’M SENDING THE ITINERARY FOR TOMORROW ON THE GROUP CHAT!” Laughter exploded around the room. 

What’s the homework — 10:58pm

(Landino, Banana, Snow White, Taylor swift, Danny, Pastry, Chili, Mr Always late, Caterpillar eyes)

Snow white

First of all, no wake up calls from George and his monstrous gang. George and Oscar are preparing breakfast for everyone, we will not be doing anything extreme tomorrow. Charles is going to rent a car or van, I don't know, Max is going to be the one driving, we will visit small towns around the area. Phones are also officially banned tomorrow, well except for Charles cause he has to rent the car, but other than his phone, NO PHONE ‼️‼️‼️

Oh also, we’re having movie night tomorrow :)

Taylor swift

Wait

Why do I have to drive

Snow white

Because I won fair and square and chose you 😍😍

The light above the sink buzzed softly, the only sound breaking through the quiet hum of the night. Everyone else had already disappeared upstairs, laughter fading into the creak of floorboards.

Lando stood alone in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, arms deep in soapy water. The faint scent of dish soap and pizza crust lingered in the air. He didn’t mind—cleaning gave him something to do, rather than spending hours on trying to sleep.

Halfway through rinsing a plate, he heard footsteps behind him. Slow, soft.

Oscar appeared beside him, damp hair falling across his forehead, hoodie hanging loose over his shoulders. He looked comfortable—fresh from the shower, eyes slightly heavy—but that teasing glint was still there when he smiled.

Lando raised an eyebrow without turning fully. “What do you want from me, sir?”

Oscar leaned back against the counter beside him, arms crossed. “Just making sure you don’t make a mess.”

Lando scoffed, scrubbing harder at the plate. “Hilarious.”

Silence followed—but not the awkward kind. The kind that felt easy. Familiar. The kind that only existed when someone you liked being around was nearby—wait, no. Scratch that. That's— that’s weird. That’s—

Lando cleared his throat. “You should, uh, lock your door, y’know.”

Oscar’s brows knit slightly. “Why?”

“In case I, uh, decide to sleepwalk again.” Lando said it like a joke, but it came out softer than he meant.

Oscar chuckled, nodding slowly. “Right. I'll keep that in mind.” “Yeah,” Lando murmured, rinsing another plate.

The silence settled again, broken only by the sound of water and the quiet hum of the fridge. Lando kept sneaking glances, trying so hard to push down the churning of his stomach. He tried focusing on washing the plates, then—

Clank!

The plate slipped from his hands, crashing into the sink and sending water splashing everywhere. Both of them flinched, turning toward each other in perfect sync—then burst into laughter.

“I knew you’d make a mess,” Oscar wheezed, clutching his stomach. His hair stuck to his forehead, his grin wide.

Lando tried not to laugh, wiping at the soap on his hands. “Oh, god—if George was here, he’d kill me for drowning the kitchen.”

Both of them wiped the mess Lando had created. “Oh careful there, the floor’s quite wet—“ before Lando could finish his words, Oscar slipped.

Lando grabbed his arm on instinct, yanking him forward. Their balance went haywire, feet sliding, hands clutching—and somehow, against all logic, Lando ended up holding Oscar upright, one hand on his shoulder, the other gripping his arm tight.

“You alright?” Lando’s voice came out sharper than he meant, breath quick.

Oscar blinked at him—then started laughing again.

“What—why are you—?!” Lando frowned, half-annoyed, half.. (i’ll leave that to you.”

“Should’ve let you fall,” Lando grabbed the towel. Oscar watches as Lando crouches down, wiping the droplets—or—puddle of water. Oscar could see the frown in Lando’s brows, he crouched in front of him.

Lando glared up mid-wipe, “what are you smiling at?” He frowned. Oscar kept his smile, scooting closer to close the gap between them. And at that moment, Lando’s frown was replaced by startled.

Because Oscar was right in front of him, just a few inches away—with that stupid, stupid, smile stuck on his face. Oscar's hands reached out, landing softly on Lando’s cheek—so soft—as if he was afraid that one wrong move would bruise him.

His thumb brushed against Lando’s jaw, “you had soap all over your face and you didn’t even notice.” 

Thump, thump, thump..

Lando’s hand tightened around the edge of his apron. His heart was going wild the longer Oscar kept his hands lingering on his cheek.

Thump, thump, thump..

Their eyes shifted into something else for a moment, something warm, soft—and to worsen things up—Lando liked everything he was feeling. Lando looked down, Oscar retreated his hands by the action. Both suddenly avoiding each others eyes.

“Oh, th— thanks—” he stuttered, cringing, and decided to add, “—bro…”

Oscar cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, no problem—“ he paused, “—bro..” 

The two stood up, Lando quickly went back to washing up the plate, with Oscar still standing beside him for company. The room was silent, not the awkward ones, the ones where you realize you may be falling—or not.

No, it's just the mood, yeah. The mood made me feel things. Lando thought.

It was Oscar who spoke next. “Did you, uh, read Alex’s message in the group chat?” 

Lando held up the frying pan in his hand as an answer, trying to not show the fact that he could feel his heart burst open when Oscar turned to him with a grin—already guessing what that meant. 

And just like the lake flows, the tension was lifted up.

“Right. So, no George wake-up concert tomorrow—thank god. Me and George are on breakfast duty, Charles is renting a car, Max’s driving.”

“Where to?” Lando asked, shutting off the tap. 

“The towns. Then, uh, movie night after.”

Lando smiled faintly, grabbing a towel to dry his hands. “We should let Alex plan things more often. That actually sounds perfect and not torturing.”

Oscar laughed under his breath. “Yeah.”

Lando turned, leaning against the counter beside him. For a moment, neither of them said anything. Just the faint drip of the faucet, the low hum of the house, and that strange pull in the air between them.

Thump, thump, thump..

“Well,” Lando finally said, voice lower, softer. “Goodnight.”

Oscar smiled back, eyes meeting his for a heartbeat longer than necessary. “Goodnight, Lando.”

Lando nodded once before walking past him, heart thudding a little too fast for something as simple as washing dishes.

Thump, thump, thump..

He held onto his heart, frowned ever so slightly, UGHHH, what is going on with me?! He stormed up the stairs. 

Million thoughts running through his head, what if he sleepwalked again? What if he wakes up and tada, he’s on Oscar again? What if the others start to suspect things? He doesn’t want the friendship to be ruined just because he’s falling for Oscar. What if—

“Charles?”

Charles froze mid-step in the corridor like a deer caught in headlights. He looked guilty—too guilty—for someone who was supposedly just walking around.

Lando frowned, one brow lifting as he reached the top of the stairs. “What are you doing?”

“Uh…” Charles blinked rapidly, looking left, right, then back at Lando. “Pierre just farted. I’m escaping.”

Lando paused. “…And Carlos?”

“Still in there.”

There was a long beat of silence. Then Charles added with a solemn nod, “Making Carlos suffer.”

Lando tried—he really did—but he couldn’t help laughing. “Right. Okay.” He turned to head toward his room, ready to call it a night, when the other door beside him creaked open.

Max stepped out, moving like a cartoon thief—slow, cautious, and way too quiet for someone his size. He smiled in Charles’s direction, whispering, “Charlieee.”

Charles’s eyes widened, flicking urgently toward Lando.

Max frowned. “What?” He turned his head and froze.

Lando was standing there, jaw dropped so far it could’ve hit the floorboards. “Holy fuck,” Lando said, pointing dramatically between them. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

The silence that followed could’ve rivaled the grave. Then Charles sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay, uh… surprise?”

Turns out, Max and Charles had been dating for four months. They hadn’t exactly hidden it—they were always affectionate, admiring each other—but everyone just assumed that was their usual dumb, lovesick energy. Mutual pining, people called it. 

Except it wasn’t pining at all. It was the real thing.

When Lando finally asked, “Why didn’t you just share a bed?” Max and Charles both shrugged like it was obvious.

“This is a friends trip,” Max said.

“Yeah,” Charles added. “We didn’t want to make it weird. You know, for the others.”

And, honestly, Lando thought that was kind of sweet. They weren’t hiding out of guilt—they were doing it because they didn’t want to steal the spotlight from the group’s chaos.

Still, it explained everything. The late-night whispers, the random walks outside, the “Pierre farted” excuse. They’d been sneaking out just to spend quiet time together. Just sitting under the stars, probably holding hands, probably being disgustingly cute about it.

Lando lay back on his bed later that night, staring up at the ceiling’s warm wooden beams.

He smiled faintly to himself. Despite everything—the chaos, the noise, the pranks—this trip had turned out softer than he expected.

He let his eyes close, body sinking into the mattress. For once, he didn’t need melatonin or anything. After a long day and a hundred laughs, sleep came easier than ever.

Chapter Text

The morning came slow, soft.

Warmth pooled around him, soft and heavy—the kind that made it impossible to tell where the sheets ended and his body began. The air smelled faintly of detergent and sunlight, the room quiet except for the distant hum of birds outside.

He shifted slightly, the blanket brushing against his chin, and let out a small sigh. It was peaceful—too peaceful for this house, really. No Daniel yelling, no George blasting music, no chaos echoing from the kitchen. Just quiet.

It felt… nice. And kinda warm in all the right places, the kind of warmth that made him want to sink deeper and never move again. His muscles relaxed without him realizing, his breathing falling into a lazy rhythm.

This is nice, he thought.

So nice he swore he could’ve sworn he started to hear the angels’ call.

“Lando..”

Oh yes, hi angels. 

“Lando..”

Yes, that’s my name. Am I in heaven?

“Lando, wake up.”

Yes— wait, huh?

“Lando, sorry to wake you, but I have to go help George cook today.”

Heaven?

Lando flattered his eyes, narrowing them till he realized he was laying on Oscar’s arms. 

NOT HEAVEN. I REPEAT. NOT HEAVEN. RETREAT! RETREAT!

Lando’s brain short-circuited. His entire body jolted like someone hit a panic button. In half a second, he launched himself backward, tangling himself in the blanket, before gracelessly rolling right off the bed and thudding onto the floor.

“Shit—ow, fuck—,” he groaned, clutching his side.

Oscar sat up, all sheepish and awkward, his hair sticking up at odd angles. “Sorry,” he muttered, voice still heavy with sleep. 

“I tried waking you up as softly as I could, but you wouldn’t budge.” He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes fixed on the white blanket.

Lando peeked up from the floor, his face the exact shade of a stop sign. “It’s—don’t apologize,” he mumbled quickly. Then, quieter, half to himself, “How the hell did I end up here again?”

Oscar definitely heard that, but decided silence was the safest option. 

After a long pause, Lando squinted up at him. “Did you lock the door last night?” 

Oscar nodded slowly. “Pretty sure I did.”

Lando groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Then how am I here?” He muttered, like maybe the ceiling would answer him. “I’m sorry, dude. I have no idea why this keeps happening. This never happens back home, I swear—I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“It’s oka—”

“I swear to God, I need to be leashed.” Lando interrupted, throwing his hands over his face and collapsing backward with a groan.

Oscar couldn’t help but laugh quietly. “It’s okay, really. I don’t—” he hesitated, looking down at the sheets, then back at Lando, voice softening, “I don’t mind.”

Lando froze. His hands slid down just enough for his eyes to peek over his fingers—and instantly regretted it. Because right then, with sunlight spilling through the curtains, Oscar looked unfairly good.

Like—unreasonably good.

The light hit his skin just right, warm and golden, and his cheeks were dusted pink. Not just embarrassed pink—the kind of pink that looked soft and alive, the kind that made Lando’s stomach twist.

God, he even blushed pretty. The kind of pretty that Lando would spend hours on the internet just to find the exact hex of that pink.

Lando blinked. Do not— WTF? Do not Google that shade of pink— What are you even thinking, he scolded himself, jerking his gaze away so fast his neck almost cracked.

He cleared his throat, desperate to sound normal—and failing spectacularly. “Hahahahhaha, thanks bro.”

Oh lord help me, Lando cringed.

Oscar chuckled under his breath, running a hand through his hair. “You really need to stop sounding like you’re held at gunpoint every time we talk in the morning.”

“Hard not to when I keep waking up like I’ve broken into your bed,” Lando shot back.

Oscar smiled. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” He got off the bed, “you can stay here if you’d like. I don't think breakfast is going to be done anytime soon.” He went over the bed, walking towards Lando.

Lando blinked as Oscar stopped in front of him and held out a hand. For a second, he just stared at it, then reached out—Oscar’s grip was warm, firm, and unnecessarily steady for someone who had just thrown him into cardiac arrest by existing.

He was pulled easily to his feet, now standing far too close. Lando’s brain shorted again, his eyes darting everywhere but Oscar’s face—the wall, the lamp, the stupidly perfect folds of the blanket.

“Yeah, okay, thanks.”

Oscar hummed, a teasing smile spread across his face before his hands reached out to mess up Lando’s curls.

“See you,” he walked out of the room. The door clicked, the sounds of Oscar’s footsteps slipping away.

Lando buried his face onto his hands, I'm not falling. He repeats to himself like it was a chant that could magically pull every feeling he had in his body.

Breakfast rolled around an hour later, with George taking on the sacred duty of waking everyone up. Determined not to anger the queen herself (Alex), he ditched his usual chaos and, shockingly, went for a gentle approach this time

By the time everyone stumbled into the kitchen, the smell of toast and orange juice filled the air. Oscar was already at the counter, flipping the last batch onto a plate while George proudly claimed all the credit.

Now the group was scattered—some around the dining table, others slouched across the couch like zombies in pajamas. Everyone seems to be in a great mood, and we can all thank Alex for it.

Pierre was half-asleep, munching his toast with one eye open. Daniel had sunglasses on for no apparent reason. Charles was buttering his toast like it was a life-or-death mission. Lando eyed him, noticing the tiny things after what he had discovered yesterday.

Max walked from the kitchen, approaching Charles who was crouched on the carpet, eyes glued on the television. Max sat beside him, hands rubbing Charles back with a sleepy smile, he nodded towards the orange juice he brought for him.

Charles smiled, all bright and shy, head pressed against Max’s side while they watched the TV together.

Lando looked around to see if anyone had noticed them and yet—no one bats an eye. It was true, Max and Charles didn’t even try hiding the fact that they were together, everyone was just too busy to notice these tiny things.

He walked towards them both, taking a seat at the couch right behind them. “Gay,” he whispered only for them both to hear. Charles choked as Max teasingly tickled Lando’s feet. Lando yelped but held it in, not wanting to grab attention.

Lando smiled proudly, leaning back and folding his feet up. Munching on his egg toast. Then Charles turned around, grabbing his attention. 

“Have you told anyone about it?”

Lando shook his head. “Why should I? It’s your business.”

Charles smiled, a quiet kind of appreciation flickering across his face. Before the silence could settle, Max spoke up—casual, like he was just asking about the weather. “You told Oscar though, didn’t you?”

Lando frowned. “No? Why’d you think that?”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Max said. “We won’t tell anyone else what we saw.”

Charles and Max exchanged mischievous looks, both grinning like a bunch of kids hiding a secret.

Lando blinked. “What did you guys see?”

“We saw you sneak out of your room yesterday to go Oscar’s, around 1 or 2? We were still in the living room and somehow you didn’t even notice us.” Charles said.

“What?”

“Yeah, pretty sure Oscar was awake too, so we just assumed that maybe.. you were just like us. Plus we were well aware that you walked out of Oscar’s room—and that Oscar insisted on waking you up—“

“Wait— wait what?— God, I was actually sleepwalking..” Lando cuts him off, not even fully registering every word Charles said, as he dragged a hand down his face. “I was actually sleepwalking. I swear. It’s been happening since the second day of this trip. I fall asleep next to George and Alex, and somehow I wake up next to Oscar.”

Max’s head whipped toward him. “What?”

“I don’t even know dude,” Lando shrugged.

“I don’t even know, dude,” Lando muttered, sounding more defeated than confused.

“Maybe your body’s just… attracted to Oscar,” Max teased, the grin already forming.

Lando shoved him. “It’s not! He’s just a friend. Like all of you are. Plus, we’re not even that close. It’d be weird if I did like him. Which I don’t. And even if I did, he wouldn’t like me back anyway.”

Max and Charles shared a long, knowing look, then turned back to the TV in unison. “Yeah, right,” they said together.

“What does that mean?” Lando frowned. No answer. “Seriously, what does that mean?” Still nothing. “Okay, mate. In my defense, I was asleep.”

They hummed, harmoniously, teasingly. “WH— I’M SERIOUS!”

“Dude okay, you can’t be that blind. Oscar is definitely in love with you.” Charles turned around again, Lando followed Charles’s gaze to where Oscar was—laughing, juggling three oranges with Daniel, completely oblivious.

“You’re joking.” Lando said flatly, raising both his brows.

Charles shrugged, “because, truth be told, if I was him. I would lock my door just so you wouldn’t sleepwalk into my room. So let that thought sink in,” he turned back and glanced back again.

Adding, “and, just so you know. Max and I? Wasn’t even that close to begin with, even hated his guts at the beginning, now look. Things work out, feelings come out of a sudden, you don’t need an explanation for them. That's how love works, Lando. It comes when you least expect it,” he smiled.

He leaned back, resting his head on Max’s shoulder—knowing for a fact that his words have left an impact on Lando. 

Lando glanced back at where Oscar was, laughing his head off at what Daniel had said. Does it seem as bad as he ought it to be? So what’s wrong is he finds comfort sharing a bed with Oscar? Why does he feel comfortable? He leans back, suddenly losing his appetite. Just staring blankly at the empty seat across from him. 

.

.

They’d somehow all squeezed into a tiny rented van—the kind that looked like it might give up halfway through a hill. Well that’s what you get for trusting Charles for doing the renting business. 

Max was behind the wheel, forced upon Alex’s wish. Alex claimed shotgun, only because he was the one leading everyone to their destination today. George and Charles took the second row, shoulder to shoulder, Charles whistling a song quietly while George was busy adjusting the AC vents like his life depended on it.

Daniel and Pierre occupied the third, sharing snacks and arguing about who packed the worst playlist. And crammed in the very back, a tangle of limbs and chaos, Oscar, Lando, and Carlos—collectively the van’s loudest and most restless section.

“Why does it smell like wet socks back here?” Lando complained, kicking at the seat in front of him. “Carlos, did you even shower, Mate?” Carlos gasped dramatically, hands to his chest. “That’s your hoodie, mate.”

Carlos shook his head in disbelief, being dramatic per-usual. “Don’t make me turn this van around,” he said in his best dad voice. 

Pierre leaned over the seat. “You’re not even driving.”

Carlos shrugged. “Doesn’t mean I can’t threaten discipline.”

Daniel snorted, Lando huffed, losing rock-paper-scissors and a comfortable seat was definitely not on his morning bingo. Thankfully, Oscar had taken the middle spot, so Lando wouldn't have to spend the entire ride fighting for leg space with Carlos. 

“Okay, I’m serious,” Lando said, sitting up halfway. “Does anyone have perfume? Or anything that sprays good smells? Because Charles picked the stinkiest van to rent.”

“Wha– this was the only vehicle that could fit 9 people! If you want to blame someone, blame it on Alex! We could’ve just rented two cars but instead he wants everyone to fit on one just for ‘bonding experiences’” Charles puts his fingers up, quoting Alex. 

Alex scoffed, “hey! God forbid a guy who wants to spend his entire day with his friends!” Alex and Charles started to bicker non sense. And to worsen things up, Pierre was starting to feel carsick from how bumpy the roads were. 

“Dude! Back to the topic, please! Does anyone have any perfume!?” Lando tries screaming, the sounds of Charles and Alex overlapping him. 

George groaned, Max hit a bump, and suddenly everyone screamed in overlapping accents. The two started bickering nonsense immediately — loud, fast, overlapping. Meanwhile, Pierre was turning progressively greener from the road’s endless bumps.

“Guys!” Lando tried to yell over them. “Can we please get back to the perfume thing before I suffocate?”

George groaned, Max hit a pothole, and suddenly the entire van screamed in overlapping accents. Lando lost his grip on George’s seat and lurched backward—bracing for impact with the window—only for Oscar to react on instinct. His hand slammed against the glass behind Lando’s head, stopping it just in time.

He had his other arm in front—which Lando was holding onto—eyes widened from panic. “You okay?” his words came out sharp, worried. But Lando was too busy trying to ignore how Oscar's biceps felt against his hand and back. 

Lando had never expected—not that he had ever imagined Oscar’s biceps, but the dude had arms. Like actual arms, the ones you get for lifting weights for weeks. HE WAS JACKED—

“Lando?” 

Oscar raised his brows, waiting. Lando blinked, gulping the lump on the back of his throat before he managed a nod. 

Oscar nods back, pulling his arms back. Lando faced front, hands on his knee, now sitting like a polite kid just trying to be the first to go home from school. Then out of a sudden–

“Guys, I think I'm going to puke.” Pierre said, one hand on his stomach, the other on his mouth. It was a moment of silence before the van burst into complete chaos. 

.

.

Turns out the Avocado they ate this morning had expired long ago, Alex whispers something about being thankful for choosing the egg toast instead of the avocado toast. 

Pierre lay dramatically on the hospital bed, pale but still full of energy to complain. He pointed weakly at George and Oscar. “You two owe me so much.”

George immediately looked away. “Sooo,” he said, pretending to check his phone, “did anyone else eat the avocado toast?” No response, “okay amazing!”

“Wait– are you going to leave me here to rot alone!?” Pierre gasped, George rolled his eyes. “No we won’t, I guess we have to cancel today's plan?—”

“Wait—what? You’re just gonna leave me here to rot alone?” Pierre gasped, clutching his blanket like a tragic movie hero.

George sighed. “No, we won’t. I guess we’ll have to cancel today’s plans—”

“OH, HELL NO!” Alex cut him off before he could finish. “I made that reservation myself. I spent hours last night searching through sketchy travel blogs. We are not wasting it.”

Pierre groaned. “So you are leaving me to die alone. Great. What happened to ‘bonding experience’, huh?”

Charles patted his arm gently. “Hey, at least now we’ll have a story to tell when we get back?” Pierre frowned. “That’s not comforting, Charles.”

Daniel raised his hand, cheerful as ever. “I don’t mind staying! Towns aren’t really my thing anyway. What if we walk into a cult or something—like that scene from Ballerina?” He referenced the new John Wick movie. 

Everyone turned to stare at him. Just… stared.

Daniel blinked. “What?”

“Okay! Amazing!” Alex clapped his hands. “You two can stay here then. The rest of us will see you back at the cabin.” And just like that, they all filed out, leaving Pierre groaning and Daniel humming the John Wick theme beside his bed.

.

.

The day carried on with Alex in full tour-guide mode, gesturing dramatically at every artifact they passed and rambling about history, local gods, and—according to George—at least one completely made-up legend involving a “potato deity of abundance.”

They stopped by antique shops and thrift stores, where Alex and Lando made it their personal mission to befriend every elderly shop owner they met. By the time they’d finished chatting about cats, weather, and “the good old days,” the sun was already sliding west.

Soon enough, they’ve somehow found their way to the seaside—quiet and comfortable, the town wasn’t crowded to begin with. Just the perfect amount of civilization.

Everyone climbed up onto the sea wall, legs dangling, faces turned to the horizon as the waves rolled in. The sky casted a purple-pink tone, so beautiful it almost seemed fake.

“Daniel and Pierre are so missing out,” Carlos said, stretching with a lazy grin.

George hummed, “Yeah, I wonder what they’re doing right now.”

No one answered, too lost in the calm. Lando turned to say something to Charles—only to catch sight of Charles and Max instead, pinkies interlocked, shoulders pressed together, smiles soft and wordless.

They had that thing—whatever this was—that made everyone else want it too. That ease, that quiet understanding. Lando had wanted that kind of bond once, back when he thought love ruined friendships. But watching them now… maybe it didn’t always end badly.

Maybe friends-to-lovers could actually work out.

He was halfway lost in that thought when he noticed Oscar beside him, head drooping, hand clutching his temple. Panic flicked on Lando’s face, hands reaching out instinctively on Oscar’s shoulder.

“Hey, you alright?—“ Lando couldn’t even finish his sentence, Oscar's body just leaned weakly towards him. “Wh— Osc,” he lowered his voice, panicking. “Are you okay? What's wrong?” 

“‘M fine,” Oscar murmured, voice low and steady. “Just… Can I lean here for a sec?”

Lando nodded, “yeah, yeah of course. Don’t worry about it,” he tried being casual about it, Oscar’s warmth pressed into his shoulder. The scent of his hair—chocolate—hit him in waves every time the wind blew. Lando tried to act casual, staring straight ahead like he wasn’t melting inside.

Act cool. Act cool. Act— I CAN’T.

“Oscar, are you sure you’re okay?”

“It’s probably the avocado kicking in,” Oscar said so casually. As if he didn’t know about what happened to Pierre.

Lando's eyes widened almost instantly, “WHAT— sorry, what?! You ate the avocado toast?? Why didn’t you say so when we were back in the hospital?! We have to tell George, right now.”

“Wait no,” Oscar stopped Lando from standing up. “They’re gonna make a big fuss out of this. I’ll be fine—“

“Hell you will, I'm sorry but I'm not letting my friend die on a summer trip. George! Ge— GEORGE RUSSEL!!” Lando screamed, arms still wrapped behind Oscar’s back to keep him stable.

Everyone’s heads whipped toward them.

“What?!” George asked, already halfway on his feet.

“Oscar ate the avocado toast!”

“WHAT?!” Everyone screamed in union, Max stood up immediately. “We’re going to the hospital.” 

“Are you okay?!”

“Why didn’t you say something?!”

“Should we go now?!”

“Are you feeling sick?!”

“Do you feel like puking??”

“Do you need a plastic bag??”

“Where’s the nearest drug store, he needs medicine ASAP.”

Oscar glanced up at Lando helplessly, giving him a ‘I told you’ look. Lando chuckled awkwardly, mouthing “sorry.” 

Thirty minutes later, the tiny rented van was back on the road, rattling through the narrow lanes toward their cabin. Max drove like a man with a mission, Alex rode shotgun, again, loudly insisting he had everything under control.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” George asked from the second row for the fifth time. No response—panic rises up again–everyone swings their head 180°. Only to find Lando stiffly sitting with an awkward smile, Oscar had his head resting against his shoulder. 

“Jesus– fucking scared the living hell out of me.” Max kept his eyes back on the road,  everyone turned away with a relief sigh. 

Charles leaned over Max’s seat. “Since Oscar’s asleep, should we just drive to the hospital–”

“Don’t you dare,” Oscar said quickly. “No hospitals. I’m good. I just need sleep.” 

“Dude, wtf? WERE YOU IGNORING ME??” George said dramatically. A smile painted on Oscar's lips, eyes still shut. 

“You ask too many question–”

“WHA– just so you know, this is how a normal friend reacts when they find out that their friend might DIE out of food poisoning. PEOPLE DIE FROM FOOD POISONING Y’KNOW?!”

“Around 420,000 people die globally from foodborne diseases a year,” Alex randomly dropped a fact. 

Getting judging eyes from Max, “what? I may or may not have browsed too far on the internet?”

“I’m literally fine, I'm not gagging, nor am I having diarrhoea, my head just hurts. I’m not dying,” he said, shifting deeper to Lando’s shoulder. 

Lando closed his eyes, clutching onto his shirt, feeling like he was the one sick instead from how warm his cheek feels. 

Carlos, from the front, whispered to Charles, “He’s totally not fine.”

And when Charles turned around to offer some water, he paused mid-way, smirking at the sight he’s witnessing. He made it obvious he is reaching for his phone, snapping a photo of the scene with the widest teasing grin one has ever seen.

“So in love,” he mouthed. Lando flipped him off. 

.

.

The night came by, Pierre was miraculously feeling 10x better than he had previously felt. Daniel started showing pics he took of Pierre, crying over the movie ‘Up’. Then in exchange, Charles showed the picture he took of the stores they went to.

Everyone gathered around the couch, except for Pierre and Oscar who were in their rooms resting up.

The living room lights were dimmed. Pride and Prejudice flickered on the TV, soft piano spilling into the room, and Alex sat forward like it was sacred scripture.

“You have bewitched me, body and soul… and I love, I love, I love you.”

Lando sat curled into the couch, one knee pulled to his chest, a throw blanket half-forgotten around him. He wasn’t watching the screen. Wasn’t listening to Darcy.

His gaze kept drifting—again, again—to Oscar’s closed bedroom door down the dim hallway.

Max might've noticed, "I wonder how Oscar’s doing, should someone go check on him? Lando, can you check on him?” He said, not waiting for anyone else’s reply. 

“Yeah, can you go check, Lando?” Charled winked at Lando, who then chuckled while shaking his head in disbelief.

“Right, make sure he eats his pills too.” George said, mouth filled with popcorn. 

“Aye aye.”

Lando opened Oscar’s door quietly. The room was dark except for the soft moonlight spilling in, silver against the sheets. Oscar was curled up under the blanket, turned away, breathing slow.

The soft songs coming from his ipod, the writing clear on it.

> playing "Fallingforyou" — The 1975

Lando crouched beside the bed and reached gently for Oscar’s forehead. Before he could even touch, Oscar blinked awake, sleepy eyes lifting to him.

“Hi, loops.” Oscar said, coming out more like a whisper. 

Lando felt his heart shutter, maybe it was the mood they were set up to (yeah go on blame the mood again, Lando) that made Lando feel like everything could be possible at this moment 

“Hi,” Lando smiled. His hands moving on its own, sliding down to cup Oscar’s cheek, brushing against his jaw. Oscar closed his eyes, leaning against his touch.

I shouldn’t be doing this, Lando thought.

“Have you had your meds?” He asked. Oscar hummed, “George threatened to bring me to the hospital if I didn’t.” 

Lando laughed, “yeah. I would've done that myself too.” He swallowed, forcing his hand to fall away. “Alright. I just came to check on you. Get some rest.”

He started to stand—but Oscar’s fingers closed around his wrist, weak but film enough.

“Sta—”

Lando cut him off before he could finish. “Get well soon, Oscar.” Then left the room without looking back. 

The truth was, Lando didn’t allow Oscar to finish because he knew what he was asking, and he knew that he would do anything he asked for. Lando didn’t want that, he’s a friend. 

Charles and Max turned when Lando left the room, both looking surprised, not expecting Lando to leave the room that quickly. 

Max raised his brows, mouthing—“what happened?”—in reply, Lando shaked his head.

Mouthing back, “nothing.” 

Climbing back to the spot he previously sat on. Staring at the screen, pretending to watch the movie, ignoring the churning in his stomach—and the way both boys kept watching him, like they already knew.

Chapter Text

Morning arrived like a whisper rather than a knock.

Lando felt it before he fully woke—the warmth tucked around his body, the heaviness in his limbs, the lazy comfort that came from having fallen asleep without meaning to. 

The couch wasn’t much compared to a real bed, but it felt unfairly perfect. Soft, warm. Like his bones had finally decided to unclench.

Sound crept in next, gentle and far-away at first.

A slow, soft song floated through the room—acoustic strings and a voice barely above a hum, the type of music people put on when they want the morning to stay unbroken just a little longer. 

> playing “Shiny penny” — Oranje Space

Beneath it, the steady whisper of water outside, the lake brushing lazily against the shore as if it, too, was waking reluctantly.

The cabin breathed with him. Wood settling. Curtains shifting as a breeze slipped through a cracked window. Pine and cool air and something warm—something cooking.

Then came the quiet clinks from the kitchen behind him. A mug placed down carefully. A cupboard opened and closed. 

Someone moving with the kind of care that only exists when they think you’re still asleep and they don’t want to interrupt the peace of the moment.

Lando’s eyes opened slowly.

Light was already spilling into the living room, morning sun pushing its way between the thin curtains in soft bands of gold. Dust motes drifted lazily in the beam, and outside, the lake caught the colors of a sky still deciding what day it wanted to be—lavender, pale orange, the faintest pink bleeding at the edges.

He looks down, finding himself wrapped up in a blanket that wasn’t previously there. He exhaled, slow. Felt the blanket shift against his chest. 

A small clink came from the kitchen behind, Lando slowly shifted to get a better sight at who was awake this early. 

He frowned, narrowing his eyes, his eyesight still blurred and drowsy. Lando rubbed his hands across his eyes, humming, “Oscar?” He called out, more like a question.

Oscar turned around, holding a plate of cereal. “Morning,” he smiled.

Lando sat up, rubbing his head. “What time is it?” 

He glanced at the clock, 5:44am, it was way too early for George to be awake. Which explained why Lando was woken up by soft music instead of demons singing.

“It’s still so early, what are you doing?” He pushed himself off the couch, the cool breeze blowing the soul out of him as he shivered. 

“You should get some rest,” Lando approached Oscar, eyes still half-open.

Oscar placed his bowl down, leaning against the counter, “you look like you need it more than me.”

Lando chuckled, just to give a reaction. His hands reached out the moment he stood in front of Oscar. He could see the slight shift of Oscar’s face, the way his shoulder tensed up for a second before he let loose.

“Do you still feel sick?” Lando murmured, moving on to checking the temperature of Oscar’s neck.

Oscar cleared his throat, “no.” 

Lando nodded, pulling his hands back. “Drank your meds?” He leaned against the counter across from Oscar, rubbing his face.

“Yeah,” Oscar replied. “Didn’t sleepwalk, huh?”

Lando let out a low laugh, “yeah. Thank god, I really thought I had to leash myself down.” 

Oscar chuckled—but it didn’t land right. Something thin, stretched, like there was a thought behind it he wasn’t sharing.

“Yeah,” he paused. “Well I'm gonna go out, you could just go back to sleep. I bet George won’t give us a break today,” Oscar picked up his bowl, moving toward the hall.

“Hm— wait, I want to come along too.”

“Oh, uh, yeah. I’ll meet you outside then? I have to grab something real quick,” He disappeared into his room, door shutting gently behind him.

Lando yawned, stretching his arms up, and made his way to the door. The moment he cracked it open, the world exhaled into him.

Cold, clean air kissed his skin, washing sleep from him better than any coffee could. The scent of wet earth and pine, lake water and early dawn—all crisp and new and impossibly fresh.

His breath puffed faintly in the chill.

The porch creaked as he stepped onto it. He moved to the swing bench, wood cool under him, metal chains groaning softly as he settled.

The lake glimmered softly in the rising light. The world was quiet in that magic way morning sometimes offered—a hush that felt sacred, untouched.

For a moment, he just sat there. Breathing. Letting cold air sting his cheeks in the nicest way. 

Just a few moments later, the door behind him clicked softly. 

“Here,” Oscar offered a warm mug. “Found some tea bags,” Lando smiled and took it.

“Thank you— oh, oh um,” Lando sat straight, allowing Oscar to wrap him up with the blanket he found previously on top of him back at the couch. 

“Tha— thank you..” Lando stuttered, leaning back. Watching as Oscar nodded and sat at the chair across from him. Lando stared, his eyes not being able to look away for far longer than 2 seconds.

It was crazy, just a few days ago Lando was scared—afraid, that it’ll be awkward for him and Oscar to share a bed, how awful it could’ve been the days after. But now, those thoughts felt silly to even be worth considering.

Because somehow, in just a span of one night, Lando was comfortable. And in this very right moment, it felt as if he needed to tell him that he was lovely and sweet, and warmer than any hot cocoa on a winter night could ever feel.

That Lando was unsure, twisted in his own thoughts, afraid—but not so afraid that he couldn’t pull himself together into some semblance of a friend for him.

That without meaning to, he’d begun to lean for him, to look for him, to need him near. 

He needed to thank him for the warm tea, for the blanket. He needed to apologize for not letting him finish, for not staying by his side when he was sick, that—

Loud yawning was heard back in the living room, both Oscar and Lando turned around, finding George walking down the stairs with a microphone and speaker in his hands.

Lando couldn’t help but laugh, “at least we won’t be woken up by his singing this time.” Oscar chuckled, “yep.” 

Activities for the day:

✅First activity: breakfast by the lake

🔲Second activity: hiking

🔲Third activity: Dinner at town

🔲Fourth activity: Stargazing

How George even managed to find a hiking trail this bad was beyond anyone’s comprehension. 

No words could quite describe it—roots like booby traps, rocks waiting to snap an ankle, and mud so deep it could swallow a shoe whole. If a random hiker stumbled across this path, they’d think it was a setup for a missing person documentary.

“C’MON, C’MON!!!” George yells from the front, hyping everyone up.

“Shut up, asshole!” Max yelled back, voice echoing through the trees.

Everyone clung to their backpacks like lifelines—backpacks, of course, that George insisted they bring “for essentials.” Now they just felt like anchors dragging them to hell.

“Oh my god, how much further?!” Daniel whined, barely keeping himself upright. He latched onto Max’s shoulder for balance, and somehow, Max actually let him.

George squinted at the crumpled map in his hands, mumbling, “Uhh… just a few more minutes?”

“So you have no idea where we are,” Carlos deadpanned, wiping sweat off his forehead.

“Hey, come on, have a little faith in me!” George tried, forcing a laugh that didn’t fool anyone.

“George, you’re draining the life out of me in real time,” Charles complained, dragging his feet through another patch of uneven dirt.

Another thirty minutes (and three near-death slips) later, the group finally stumbled onto the peak—and, miraculously, the view made it all worth it. The sky stretched wide and clear, the morning sun spilling gold over endless green. 

They all stood in silence, breathing hard, but smiling. Pierre, hands on his knees, muttered, “Okay… fine. You get one point, Russell.”

George grinned, smug as ever. “Told you it’d be worth it.”

Alex dropped his bag to the ground. “If I die on the way back, I’m haunting you.”

Daniel, sprawled on the grass, pointed weakly toward the horizon. “Worth it… but if we don’t find food soon, I’m eating whoever’s closest.”

“Not it,” Lando said instantly, finger on his nose. 

“Alright, who packed the food?” George asked. Everyone dropped their backpack, dropping down to the grass. 

“I got some on mine,” Oscar replied, hands rummaging through his bag before taking out the wrapped up burrito.

“OOOOO~ Throw me one, Piastri.” Daniel raised his hands, catching the burrito and instantly unwrapping it. 

“I got the rice balls,” Alex placed down the container, Pierre immediately launched himself towards it, grabbing and shoving one into his mouth, humming in satisfaction. 

Pierre froze mid-chew, then asked. “Wait, there’s no avocado in here, is there?” Everyone laughed. 

“No avocado,” Alex assured him, popping one into his own mouth.

Meanwhile, Lando wandered off a bit, stepping up onto a rock near the edge. He sat down, pulling out his phone to snap a photo of the view—green hills meeting a blue horizon, the kind of thing that didn’t even need a filter.

“Not eating, mate?” Charles’s voice came from behind him. He offered Lando a wrap.

“Had a big breakfast,” Lando said, smiling. “Plus George already took the hunger out of me with his death march of a hike.”

Charles snorted, sitting beside him. “Y’know—”

“If you’re about to start getting philosophical again,” Lando interrupted, “please save it for tonight.”

Charles put his hands up. “Alright, alright. You got me.”

They both laughed, settling into the kind of silence that didn’t feel awkward—just peaceful, with the wind brushing past and their friends bickering somewhere behind them.

After a while, Lando spoke again. “How did you figure out you liked Max?”

Charles blinked. “Oh wow, straight to the point, huh?”

Lando chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just curious.”

“Well I don’t really remember specifically when I fell for him, but I do know when I realized.”

Lando frowned, “is that not the same thing?”

Charles shook his head. “You don’t notice when you fall for someone. It happens in passing—in a laugh you weren’t even paying attention to, or the way your pulse forgets how to behave when they look at you too long.” 

He glanced toward Max, who was busy teasing Alex with an empty water bottle. “Falling isn’t graceful. It’s not something you do, it’s something that happens to you. Like gravity, quiet and certain, pulling you toward them even when you swear you’re standing still.”

Lando followed his gaze—though his eyes didn’t stop on Max. They drifted, inevitably, to Oscar.

Charles smiled. “But realizing you like them… that’s when the noise stops. It’s the calm after the stumble—the breath after the heartbeat. You start to see it clearly. How they’ve slipped into every thought. How even your silence feels different when they’re in it. To fall for someone is to lose balance. To realize you like them is to find meaning in the fall.”

Silence came, then— 

“Holly fuck, Charles.”

“I know.”

“Holly fuck, Charles.”

“I know dude, I know.”

“...Wow. Genuinely, wow...”

Charles couldn't help it but laugh, it really wasn’t something the group did often. Saying things like this, just sitting down and talking about feelings. Sure they do talk with each other, but it had always been about what they wanted to accomplish with each other, the memories that passed, everything but whatever this is. 

“So…” Charles nudged him, wiggling his eyebrows.

Lando squinted. “So… what?”

“Do you like Oscar?” Charles said straight off the bat.

Lando choked on absolutely nothing. His eyes went wide as he coughed violently.

Charles panicked. “D—dude, are you okay? Oh, oh wow, you’re actually choking. You’re actually— CHOKING! GEORGE! DO YOU HAVE WATER? LANDO’S DYING!”

“WHAT?” George's head whipped so fast, mid-bite of a burrito.

“NO– I’M FINE! Just air being air.” Lando covered Charles' mouth, dragging him back down. Lando told him to stay silent, threatening to jump off the cliff (he’ll actually do it for fun) if he says anything else about Oscar. 

“Alright, alright—can I have everyone’s attention?” Daniel suddenly jumped to his feet, clapping his hands like a game show host. That alone was enough to get everyone’s attention.

“What now…” Max muttered through a mouthful of rice balls.

Daniel grinned and, with a dramatic flourish, pulled a small speaker from his backpack.

“What the hell,” Max said again, slower this time.

“I have a performance to share,” Daniel declared, eyes gleaming. “And for this, I’ll need my very special dance partner—PIERRE GASSSSLYYYY!”

George groaned immediately, burying his face in his hands. “Oh, for god’s sake…”

Charles and Lando shared a look, both intrigued. George took out his phone, scrolling till he clicked a song. And slowly the music starts to fade in, and immediately—  

“DUDE!” Lando shot up from where he sat. “NO WAY. THIS IS MY JAM!” He sprinted over to them, already moving his shoulders to the rhythm. “Footloose, baby!” Daniel whooped, throwing his arms up as Pierre tried not to laugh. 

And just like that, the chaos unfolded.

Daniel was doing exaggerated 80s kicks, Pierre was pretending to hate every second but somehow still nailing every step, and Lando was in his element—dancing like his life depended on it, laughing between each move.

“Get up, losers!” Lando yelled at the others between breaths. “No one sits during Footloose!” Max groaned from the grass. “Absolutely not.”

Lando didn’t take no for an answer. He grabbed Max by the arm, dragging him to his feet. “C’mon, partypooper! You’ve got rhythm somewhere in that depressing frame!”

Charles was already laughing too hard to resist, joining in beside them with a surprisingly decent two-step. Carlos tried to back away—bad move. 

Daniel and Pierre both grabbed him by the hands, pulling him into the mess of movement. “No escape, amigo!”

“¡Ay dios mío!” Carlos laughed, but he didn’t push away.

Even Oscar, who had been quietly watching from the side, couldn’t help it but laugh.

Lando locked eyes with him mid-spin, grinning wide. “Oi, Piastri, don’t think I don’t see you sitting there—get over here!”

“I don’t dance!” Oscar protested, but Lando was already on his way to him, hands reaching out with a stupidly wide grin. 

“Everybody dance! C’mon,” he raised his brows, "I'll guide you.” 

Oscar smiled in defeat and Lando immediately took it as a yes, grabbing his wrist, dragging him into the crowd of swaying bodies and wild laughter.

Alex joined in next, because of course he did, yelling “THIS IS A BONDING EXPERIENCE!” while trying to mimic Daniel’s ridiculous kicks.

By the time the chorus hit, the entire group was on their feet—jumping, laughing, spinning, completely out of rhythm but not caring in the slightest. 

The speaker was too small for the moment it carried, echoing into the quiet mountain air, their voices and laughter bouncing against the trees. And for once, there was nothing else—no worries—just a bunch of idiots dancing on top of the world.

When the song finally ended, they all collapsed in a heap—gasping, grinning, faces red from laughing too much. 

“Okay,” George panted, lying flat on the grass. 

“Wow, I still got them moves.” Lando proudly said, laid flat on the ground. 

Max was wheezing, hair a mess. “Never again.”

“Tomorrow night,” Daniel said immediately. Everyone groaned—then laughed again.

Activities for the day:

✅First activity: breakfast by the lake

✅Second activity: hiking (plus accidental dance?)

✅Third activity: Dinner at town

🔲Fourth activity: Stargazing

They made a small fire by the edge, more smoke than flame, but enough to keep them warm. The bonfire crackled gently at the edge of the dock, throwing sparks up into the night. The air smelled like salt and smoke, waves brushing against the wood below. 

Everyone sat in a loose circle, wrapped in blankets they’d dragged from the cabin, faces lit by the orange glow.

Charles had found a guitar in the cabin earlier—old, slightly out of tune, but charming in that way—and now strummed quietly, half-playing, half-thinking.

Carlos and Alex were arguing about the “correct” way to toast marshmallows, Daniel was retelling an old story for the third time, and Pierre laughed so hard he nearly fell backward off the dock. George tried to catch him but somehow made it worse. 

And Max was fast asleep.

Lando sat at the edge with his legs hanging off, watching his reflection disappear every time the water moved. 

Oscar joined him quietly, like he didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.

For a while, they just sat there—not talking, just listening. The crackle of the fire, Charles mumbling a song that kept changing halfway through, Daniel’s laugh echoing behind them.

Oscar started making soft static noises, catching Lando off guard. A phone in hand, camera already rolling. His voice dropped into a bad imitation of a wildlife narrator’s whisper.

“Krrr— krrr– To your left, just a few meters away. Here we have the rare, nocturnal creature known as Maximus Verstappenus,” he said, zooming in dramatically on Max, who was passed out on the couch, arm thrown over his face like he’d just survived a war.

Lando, surprised, bit his lip to keep from laughing.

“Notice how he sleeps, completely unbothered by his natural predators, such as responsibility or George Russell.” Lando snorted. 

Oscar glanced at him for a moment, smiling, and continued, keeping his voice serious. “This majestic beast can drive at three hundred kilometers per hour, yet is defeated by a single burrito and a long day in the sun.” He zoomed in closer, catching Max’s faint snore.

“Ah, and here we hear the mating call—a deep, guttural rumble that signals his contentment in his natural habitat.” Lando finally lost it, laughter bubbling out uncontrollably. 

“Mate, stop it! You’re going to anger the lion,” Lando laughed, shoving Oscar’s phone down and turning it off. He couldn’t stop laughing—hands clutching his stomach, breath caught between giggles.

Oscar set his phone aside, still smiling as he watched him.

“What was that for?” Lando asked, wiping at his eyes, cheeks warm from laughter.

Oscar shrugged, casual but with that small grin that never gave him away completely. “Always wanted to film a wild animal. Luckily we had a lion nearby.”

Lando shook his head, grin still tugging at his lips. “You’re a complete idiot, Osc.”

“Yet you laughed, loops.” Loops. 

“Why do you call me that?” Lando tried sounding casual, but truth be told, his heart had started to quicken the moment Oscar sat beside him. 

“Hm?”

From somewhere behind them, Charles started strumming softly on the guitar, his voice spilling gently into the night.

“Loops,” Lando said again, turning to look at him. “Why do you call me that? You said it yesterday too.” He regretted it the moment he saw him under the moonlight.

Oscar kept his gaze on the lake, the reflection of the bonfire flickering in his eyes. 

“Your curls are like loops,” he said after a pause, then hesitated. His next words came softer. “I like them.” 

He turned, and for a moment, their eyes met in the glow of the firelight—too long, too heavy, too much. 

“I like..” Oscar’s voice softens.

Lando fist wrapped around his shirt, hopelessly nervous, breath quickening in a way he never knew could quicken. 

“I like..” 

Oscar parted his mouth, but closed after. Turning away from Lando, “I like your curls. That’s why I called you loops.” 

Oh. 

Lando blinked, looking at the lake. He breathed in, heart racing so quick he felt as if he was about to be on a crime scene, and he was the one dead. 

Lando closed his eyes, his mind started to fog up, all the feelings hitting him like a train wreck—his body rejecting all of the unfamiliar feelings.

“I’m gonna go back in,” he stood up. “Goodnight,” Lando didn’t wait and left. Rushing more than walking.

Charles paused mid-song, confused. “Wait, what? Dude, I wasn’t done singing— where are you going?”

“IN! I’M TIRED!” Lando called back, waving a hand in the air without turning around. 

The fire popped. Someone laughed softly, but Oscar stayed quiet.

Gay dude 🏳️‍🌈 • online

Today

CHARLES IF I DIE ITS ON YOU

THIS IS ALL YOURE FAULT

Dude 

I thought you were asleep

I think I like Oscar

BUT

BUT

OMFG

LETSGOOOOOOOOO

LETS FUCKING GOOOOOOOOO

STFU

LET ME TALK

HJUDBGJWKJDBUWQ

OK

OK

OK

SPEAK

SPEAK

SPEAK TO ME

SPEAK TO ME LANDO

OPEN YOUR HEARTS AND TALK TO ME

…

Are you done?

Yeah

Sorry

I don’t know if i do or not

Just awhile ago back in the dock

I SWEAR HE WAS ABOUT TO SAY HE LIKE ME

Or i was being delusional

He didn't say it though

But I was hoping he did..

Dude is that weird?

Hi sorry

Im back

Freaked out a bit

So this is what you’re going to do

Gay dude is typing…

Lando sighs, “okay, it's okay. Just talk to him, Lando.” The words barely left his mouth before a sigh followed. 

He moved down the stairs, careful with every step so the wood wouldn’t creak, so no one else would wake. 

The clock on the wall blinked 2:04 AM. It really was late, but everyone was too caught up in stargazing.

He stopped outside Oscar’s door, hand hovering near the wood. Just one knock—that’s all it would take. But his fingers wouldn’t move. 

His stomach twisted. A drink first. Maybe that would help.

He turned away, padding quietly to the kitchen, filling a glass with cold water. The sound of it echoed in the stillness. 

He placed the glass down—and then—a soft click.

“Lando?” Oscar’s voice, low and sleepy, came from behind him.

Lando froze. Back still turned. He took one breath, two—trying to pull the words from his throat—but before he could, Oscar beat him to it.

“Sleepwalking again?” The words were gentle. Familiar. Like they’d been said before.

Lando knows he shouldn’t, that the worst he can do is run away, that he should listen to Charles and just talk to him. But, just this once, the footsteps came closer, slow and careful. 

Just this once, Lando turns around slowly. Finding Oscar standing a few steps away, still keeping distance.

“Your room’s upstairs,” Oscar said quietly. Like it was routine. Like he already knew.

Lando stepped closer. The space between them grew smaller, thinner—until it felt like one breath could bridge it. 

Charles’ words echoed somewhere in the back of his mind. “Stand close to him, make any contact—it doesn’t matter what, just a brush of a hand, seconds of a touch, then feel. Actually feel it, listen to your body, how it reacts, then you’ll figure out everything at that moment.”

They were now standing a few inches away, Oscar's eyes slightly widened, still not moving a muscle. 

Lando—just slightly—resting his head against Oscar’s shoulder. And the world fell quiet.

Thump, Thump, Thump…

His heartbeat filled the silence.

Thump, Thump, Thump…

He closed his eyes, let it happen. Let himself feel.

Thump, Thump, Thump…

When he finally opened them again, he didn’t say anything. Just stepped past Oscar, quiet and dazed. 

And Oscar—he didn’t say a word either—just followed. A few steps behind. Watching, careful, making sure Lando didn’t trip on the stairs. He waited until Lando was safely in his room before turning back.

Lando sat down on the edge of his bed, staring at the floor. Then he fell back, lying flat, eyes tracing the ceiling. The thought came soft, certain.

I like Oscar Piastri.

Chapter Text

I like Oscar Piastri.

i LIKE Oscar Piastri.

i like OSCAR PIASTRI.

I LIKE OSCAR PIASTRI AND I’VE SOMEHOW MANAGED TO WAKE UP IN HIS BED AGAIN. 

Lando pressed his eyes shut, squeezing and scrunching up his nose. Not daring to move a single inch of body.

He didn’t wake up on Oscar today. Instead, his head was lying where his legs were supposed to be. Honestly, he had no idea where Oscar’s head was—and he was afraid that if he tried to climb out of bed, he’d end up smacking the shit out of him.

The sound of heavy rain poured outside—it was honestly the perfect weather for sleeping. But once Lando was awake, falling back asleep felt impossible without his melatonin.

Lando blinked up at the ceiling, wondering what he did in a past life to deserve this level of misfortune. He was just genuinely so tired. He had no clue what time it was, but judging by the lack of sunlight, it had to be around four or five a.m. 

Which meant he’d gotten, what, two hours of sleep? No—nevermind, one. One single, pathetic hour. And somehow, in that tiny window of rest, he still managed to end up here.

After a long while, Lando couldn’t hold it in anymore. It didn’t seem like he’d be falling asleep again anytime soon, anyway. So he slowly shifted out of bed, careful not to kick anyone’s child in the process.

Oscar was still fast asleep, peaceful as ever. What started as a mission to sneak out without leaving a single trace somehow turned into a silent staring contest—with Oscar’s eyelid.

The worst part? He started smiling. Then giggling.

Lando blinked, then slapped himself lightly when he realized. What the fuck is wrong with me? He shook his head, slowly climbing off the bed. But then Oscar stirred behind him, body shifting. Lando froze, debating whether to flee or stay.

“Loops?” Oscar’s voice was low and rough with sleep, sending a rush of butterflies straight to Lando’s stomach.

“You’re dreaming. Go back to sleep.” Lando squeezed his eyes shut, mortified by his own existence.

Oscar paused, then let out a soft chuckle. “Am I now?”

“Yes,” Lando said, not daring to turn fully. He reached back instead, pressing a hand to Oscar’s face and shoulder, gently pushing him back down.

“You’re dreaming, go to sleep,” Lando repeated, this time in a witchy voice, as if casting a spell.

A soft ding echoed a second later—George’s group chat notification lighting up the quiet morning.

What’s the homework — 10:58pm

(Landino, Banana, Snow White, Taylor swift, Danny, Pastry, Chili, Mr Always late, Caterpillar eyes)

Caterpillar eyes

It doth seem the heavens themselves have opened their gates, pouring forth with such fury that our morning venture upon the boards of paddle must needs be delayed. Rest thee well, for the hour of waking may yet tarry. And fret not, I shall raise no song this morn, lest I invite upon myself the wrath and mortal vengeance of Sir Max, who hath sworn to end me in my sleep.

Mr Always late

Can you be normal?

You’re a menace to the society

Do you know that?

Caterpillar eyes

I’m postponing the activities because it’s raining

Taylor swift

LET’S FUCKING GOOOOOOOOOOOO

Oscar closed his phone. “George’s postponing the activities until the rain stops.” He set it aside and looked over. “You should get some more sleep. You didn’t get much, did you?”

“It’s enough,” Lando lied—immediately regretting it, because god, he really could use a few more hours.

“Will you please just lie down?” Oscar pleaded, already shifting onto his side. “I promise I won’t sleep too close if that makes you uncomfortable. I’m capable of using only ten percent of this bed.”

Lando frowned, still facing away. “Liar. No one can use only ten percent of the bed.”

Oscar chuckled softly. “You should see my father. Some nights he only gets five.” He paused, then added, “So can you please lie back down and rest? Because I know for a fact the living room’s freezing, and George’s going to suspect something if he sees you sneaking back in this early.”

Lando hesitated but gave in—mostly because Oscar was right. And honestly, he’d rather stay here, even if he couldn’t sleep, than freeze to death outside.

He lay down stiffly, flat on his back, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Oscar’s back was to him, soft shifting and clicking noises filling the quiet before stillness settled.

> playing “K” — Cigarettes After Sex

The sound of guitar filled the room, warm and unhurried, echoing through the rain. Lando couldn’t help glancing sideways, noticing how Oscar always seemed to need music to sleep, or at least that’s what he assumes. 

He closed his eyes, not expecting to fall asleep, just to rest.

But his mouth itched to clarify, "just so you know, I'm not uncomfortable sleeping next to you. Never have been, actually. So, uh. You can take more than  ten percent of the bed, y’know? I mean, it’s your bed after all.”

No response. Lando sighed. Great. He was probably talking to a boy already halfway through dreamland, dancing around and eating all the Kinder Eggs in existence— 

The bed shifted. Oscar turned, facing him. Oh. Not asleep.

Lando blinked. Neither of them spoke—just breathed, quiet and steady. It felt like that first night again, except this time, Lando was painfully aware of the way his chest tightened every time Oscar looked at him.

“Did you, uh, forget to lock the door again?” Lando said, searching for anything to talk about.

Oscar hummed, eyes shut, "must've forgot to lock it back when I went to grab some water.”

Ah, so that explains why he walked out yesterday. Lando thought, nodding to himself. 

“Should really lock it, y’know? Almost kicked your face this morning,” he added, suddenly realizing he didn’t know how to stop talking.

Oscar hummed again, “noted.”

“Y’know,” Lando started up once more, “technically, your stomach thinks all potatoes are mashed potatoes.”

“Hm? You really think so?” Oscar’s voice was tired, but still soft—gentle enough to show he was humoring Lando even when sleep was clearly winning.

“Yeah,” Lando said. Silence followed for a few seconds before another thought escaped him. “And sleep is basically a free trial of death, with cool dreams as bonus features.”

Oscar hummed again. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I once dreamt I was a bird. Turns out, pooping mid-air is really weird and uncomfortable.”

Oscar didn’t respond this time. Lando frowned, turning slightly. “Oscar?”

A soft hum. Eyes still closed.

“Have you ever thought about how the word bed looks like a bed?”

“Go to sleep, Loops,” Oscar mumbled, voice muffled in his pillow.

But Lando kept going. “No, seriously. The ‘b’ is like the headboard, the ‘e’ is the mattress, and the ‘d’—that’s like the blanket corner. That can’t be an accident.”

“Lando, please,” Oscar muttered. “I need to rest before George tortures us.”

Lando ignored him. “Also, the ocean’s basically soup. Like, fish soup—”

He froze when an arm wrapped around his waist, pulling him in until his face was pressed against Oscar’s shoulder. One of Oscar’s hands slid into his hair, the other settling at his waist, holding him still.

“I know you don’t feel the need to rest,” Oscar murmured, voice low and drowsy, “but I do.” That was enough to silence Lando. 

And somehow, just like any other nights he spends with Oscar, he falls asleep in just a few minutes.

Chapter Text

Oscar Piastri, a man who’s written for the sole purpose of Hozier’s songs.

When Oscar woke up, the first thing he noticed was the quiet. 

The soft patter that had lulled him to sleep—the steady drizzle against the cabin roof—was gone. In its place, there was only stillness, broken now and then by the distant call of a bird and the faint creak of wood as the cabin settled. The air smelled faintly of rain and pine, fresh in a way that made him want to breathe deeper.

He blinked his eyes open slowly. Sunlight filtered through the window blinds, thin lines of gold stretching across the bed and warming his skin. Somewhere outside, drops of water still clung to the leaves, catching the light like tiny stars.

And then there was Lando, still asleep, tucked against him, his head resting against his arm, one arm slung lazily over Oscar’s chest. His curls were a mess—more than usual—but it didn't really matter to Oscar, because he looks ethereal even at the right moment. There was a faint crease on his cheek from where it had pressed into Oscar’s shirt.

Oscar didn’t move. He didn’t even think about moving. 

Oscar had liked the boy for years, he didn’t tell anyone—excpet Logan—but to be fair. Logan has to know everything. Oscar remembers the day he fell for Lando like a memory that will always linger. 

Weeks before Oscar met Max, he had always struggled to make friends. Especially that day. Somehow, one of the students out in the sports field had decided to make it all about their day—and their ego—barging into the usually calm cafeteria like they owned the place. They cut in line, laughed in people’s faces, made fun of anyone who looked at them the wrong way.

And to make things worse, one of the guys spotted Oscar as he was buying lunch. Being the jerks they were, they started shouting across the hall.

“Hey, Piastri! Don’t act all mysterious and nonchalant— think you’re too cool for us? C’mon, man, we all know you can do better than that! Show us your pretty little face, c’mon!” Assholes. A fucking bunch of assholes.

Oscar ignored them, slipping out of the cafeteria toward his usual hiding spot. The noise, the laughter, the performative chaos of everyone trying too hard—it was exhausting. All he wanted was quiet. But as he neared the old music room, the faint melody of Hozier’s “Unknown / Nth” drifted through the air, wrapping around him like an unwanted ghost.

He stopped in his tracks, shoulders tensing. Out of all the other days, it had to be today—someone playing from what was supposed to be his personal sanctuary inside these walls of bullshit. For a fleeting second, he debated his options, then quickly settled on violence. 

Not literal, of course—but enough to reclaim his space. The music room was the only place that still felt like his, and he wasn’t about to share it with some guitar-playing trespasser who didn’t know how to take a hint

With his lunch tucked under his arm, he swung the door open and stormed inside, ready to start an argument. But the fight never made it out of his throat.

His anger snagged midair when his gaze found the source of the music—a boy with curls, beautiful curls, sitting on the floor beneath the window, a guitar balanced in his lap. 

Oscar stood there, frozen, lunchbox still in hand, as if the world had suddenly forgotten how to breathe.

Instantly, a wave of familiarity rocked through his body, and for a moment he was struck dumb at not only the sight of him, but the sound of him, too. With his eyes closed, drowned in a hoodie that could only look that good on him, Lando’s fingers strum across the strings with such reverence that it caused Oscar to stand stockstill, lunchbox in hand, and just absorb what he was witnessing.

The faint sunlight spilled through the curtains, the breeze shifting it just enough to cast a warm, golden glow over Lando.

His voice was so melancholy, so hauntingly beautiful, that it caused every hair on one’s body to shoot to attention. 

Because this boy wasn't just playing the music. He was the music. 

Since that day, finding Lando had felt almost impossible—there were just too many students on campus. But then Oscar met Max. And through Max came his friends. And there he was.

Oscar could’ve recognized those curls from miles away—did I mention how beautiful his curls were? Yeah, you'll get used to it. Because his curls—the way they fell in soft loops so perfect they made you wonder how long he spent getting ready in the morning.

But Oscar never made a move. He didn’t plan to. Lando felt too far out of his league—or at least, that’s what Oscar kept telling himself. So he stayed on the sidelines through every meeting, hangout, and party, content to linger nearby. Watching. Admiring. Helping in quiet ways Lando probably never even noticed. But that was okay, Oscar would never mind.

It went on for months. Then years. A slow ache that settled somewhere behind his ribs—a constant longing for a boy who was always right beside him, yet somehow felt unreachable every time he tried to close the distance.

Then came the summer trip—the one Logan had practically begged him to go on. The one where Oscar, finally, decided to take a step forward.

The first night they shared a room, Oscar couldn’t fall asleep. He kept perfectly still, afraid that even the smallest movement might wake Lando—who was leaning softly against his shoulder. The night hummed with a comfortable stillness, a quiet melody that wrapped around them both, him mostly.

He cherished that moment, memorizing every breath, every warmth pressed against him. Because he knew that by morning, Lando would be back with his friends. And this—this quiet closeness—was probably the nearest he’d ever get.

But he was wrong.

The next night, Lando walked straight into his room without a word. He didn’t look around, didn’t even seem fully awake—just crawled into bed and pulled the blanket up. Completely unaware of how his presence wrecked Oscar from the inside out.

Sleepwalking, Lando had said. “Lock the doors, please,” he’d murmured before drifting off again.

But Oscar never did. Every night, he left the door unlocked, hoping that around one or two in the morning, he’d see Lando’s shadow again, hesitating in the doorway before quietly stepping inside. And every night, he did.

Until the night he got sick.

That night, Lando didn’t come. He’d left earlier, cutting short the fragile pattern they’d built—the unspoken connection Oscar had grown to depend on. “Take your shot, Oscar. It’s alright,” Logan always told him. But now, lying there alone, Oscar regretted listening. He should’ve stayed quiet, just said goodnight. Shouldn’t have wanted more.

Maybe it was all a mistake—this longing, this reaching. Maybe he should just move on. Treat Lando like a friend and nothing more.

But then there was this.

Lando, stretched across the couch, utterly still. Bathed in the soft gold light spilling from the kitchen, the glow tracing gentle lines along his face and shoulders. There was something poignant about the way Lando looked when he slept—unguarded, heartbreakingly serene.

Nothing could ever describe it fully. The beauty of him defied words, existing somewhere beyond anything Oscar could have ever dreamt.

Truth be told, Oscar could never really fall asleep if there was music. He needed quiet. Once, when Logan stayed over, even the faintest sound of snoring had been enough to wake him, he’d ended up sleeping on the couch just to escape the noise.

But after that first night with Lando, things changed. Oscar started turning on music every night—soft, quiet songs that drifted through the room like a secret. Because whenever he did, Lando would fall asleep without a worry, without a single crease between his brows.

Just peace—soft and unguarded—painted across his hauntingly beautiful face.

Back to the room, Oscar tilted his head slightly, watching how the sunlight crept up the side of Lando’s face, how it made the edges of his lashes glow. Outside, the last droplets of drizzle were fading from the porch railing, and the sky was opening up, clear and blue. It was going to be a bright day.

Oscar smiled faintly, half at the thought and half at the ridiculous way Lando’s nose twitched every time the light shifted. He thought about how, in a few hours, everyone would probably pile onto the living room again, voices overlapping, laughter echoing across the hallway. 

But for now, in this quiet, with Lando still asleep on his arm and sunlight spilling over them, he didn’t want to be anywhere else. Then there it was, that monstrous sound.

“🎵 DO YOU EVER FEEL LIKE A PLASTIC BAG 🎵”

Definitely Alex. 

Oscar groaned quietly, burying his face in the pillow as muffled laughter followed.

“🎵 DRIFTING THROUGH THE WIND, WANTING TO START AGAIN 🎵” George joined in, far too energetic for this early in the morning.

A beat later, Daniel’s voice chimed in—loud, off-key, and entirely committed. 

“🎵 BABY, YOU’RE A FIREWORK! 🎵”

It sounded like the three of them were having a full-on tantrum session in the living room. There were thuds, laughter, and what Oscar swore was someone—probably George—banging on a pot like a drum.

Beside him, Lando stirred, letting out a sleepy, guttural whine. He squinted toward the door, hair a wild mess and eyes barely open.

“Are they serious right now?” he mumbled, voice hoarse.

Oscar smiled faintly, “looks like your friends are awake.”

Lando groaned and rolled closer, pressing his forehead against Oscar’s shoulder as if to block out the sound. “They’re not my friends right now,” he muttered. “They’re demons. Demons who deserve to be kept away.”

Oscar fell still and silent, the feeling of Lando further pressed against him fogging up his brain. He squeezed his eyes closed, hands clutched close, hovering behind Lando’s hair, not daring to touch or move. 

The living room chorus grew louder. “🎵 COME ON, SHOW ‘EM WHAT YOU’RE WORTH— C’MON WAKE UP GUYS!!! 🎵”

Oscar cleared his throat, “uh, Lando. We should go out now, you know they won’t stop—”

“Mm, 5 more minutes.”

“Okay,” Oscar replied way too quickly. As if the word had slipped out before he could stop it, as if he were under some quiet spell Lando didn’t even know he cast. Witch, that’s what Lando is. 

Outside, someone—probably Daniel—attempted a dramatic key change, followed by the unmistakable crash of a glass hitting the floor and George’s uncontrollable laughter.

.

.

The smell of George and Pierre’s cooking still lingered—grilled chicken, roasted vegetables, and something sweet from the oven that no one dared question too closely.

Lunch had been a cheerful chaos of plates clinking and stories bouncing back and forth. George had joked that his timing was impeccable, while Pierre had insisted his seasoning was the star of the meal. 

Amid the laughter, it felt like the cabin itself was joining in, creaking gently in response to their energy. Once the last crumbs were swept up, and everyone had washed their hands, a new activity awaited: paddle boarding. 

But before they left, someone—Carlos—suggested a quick game of Cluedo.

“Just one round,” Carlos pleaded, holding up the box. “Think of it as a warm-up for the water.”

George grinned, “alright, but no cheating. I’m looking at you, Max.”

Max scoffed, raising his hands in disbelief. “The fuck did i do to you.” 

They clustered around the small living room table. Pierre reclined against the wall, casually observing, while Daniel and Oscar leaned in, eyes narrowing as they tried to guess the culprit, the room, and the weapon. 

Oscar tried to keep his eyes on his card, but he glanced across, where Charles—who was sitting next to Lando on the carpet—nudged to get his attention. Lando hummed, eyes still locked on his paper. 

Charles leaned in and whispered, too soft for anyone to hear, especially when Alex kept screaming at Carlos to roll the dice. Then Lando also leaned in, whispering. Oscar had no idea what came over him, but he nudged George, catching his attention up from his card. 

Immediately screaming,  “HEY! ARE YOU TWO CHEATING?! George pointed, gaze darting to Alex for a complaint. Everyone immediately turned to Charles and Lando, who obviously started complaining back that they were just talking. 

“WE WERE NOT!” They sync, harmonizing.

“YOU SO ARE!” George went on his knees, trying to look bigger. Lando followed him, both of them arguing while Max desperately tried to peek on George’s paper. 

Both of them were now on their feet, arguing about cheating and slowly about climate change and karaoke sessions. Oscar bit back a laugh, seeing how serious Lando suddenly got while defending the turtles.

After Alex managed to calm them out with ice cream and a kinder egg. The game went on again. With the final accusation landing with a dramatic flourish from Pierre, and to everyone’s surprise, he was right (weird if you ask me). Cheers and groans mingled together as they packed up the game.

Activities for the day:

✅First activity: lunch (and Cluedo)

🔲Second activity: paddle boarding

🔲Third activity: steam boat

By the time they stepped outside, the afternoon sun was warm but forgiving. The dock stretched lazily over the shimmering lake, and the kayak boards were lined up like colorful promises.

“Alright, so there’ll be three pairs and three individuals—”

“I’m taking the single one!” Pierre cut George off before he could finish, already claiming the green board.

“Alright—”

“—I’m pairing with Max!” Daniel interrupted next, dragging Max toward the hot pink board. Max groaned in protest but couldn’t stop laughing.

While everyone was busy helping Pierre, Daniel, and Max get on their boards without immediately flipping, Lando appeared behind Oscar.

“Hi, do you want to ride together?” he asked, voice bright and certain.

Oscar’s gaze flicked up, eyes widening for a moment before softening into a smile. “Yeah. Of course.”

“Alright, anyone else—oh, okay, there they go,” George called out, cutting himself off as he spotted Lando and Oscar already heading toward the paired board.

“Want to go together?” Alex nudged George’s shoulder with a grin that stretched ear to ear. George, predictably, said yes, and the two followed after. That left Charles and Carlos with the single boards.

One by one, they pushed off from the dock, paddles slicing through the calm water.

Just as Lando was about to hop in, Oscar reached out and caught his wrist.

Lando turned, puzzled. “What’s up?”

“Your life vest,” Oscar said, holding it up.

Lando blinked, realizing too late that he’d forgotten it. He let out an awkward laugh as Oscar handed it over. “Right. Safety first,” he mumbled, fumbling with the buckles.

Oscar wasn’t planning to stare—but the way Lando’s fingers fidgeted over the straps, his brows slightly furrowed in concentration, made it impossible to look away. He bit back a smile.

Lando finally clicked the last belt into place and looked up. “All done.”

He grinned—wide, boyish, heart-achingly genuine. Oscar had to resist the sudden, irrational urge to just hurl himself into the freezing water to cool down.

“Looks good,” he managed.

Lando patted the vest proudly, “you look good yourself, Osc. C’mon,” Lando grabbed him by his wrist, tugging him towards the boat.

He had the confidence in his words today, like everything he is doing, he’s certain of it. It might be Oscar’s delusions or the after effects of too much caffeine, but Lando was different today. 

“Alright, do you mind helping?” Lando brought both his hands out, Oscar stared at it in confusion but took it.

Turns out Lando needed his help with hopping onto the board, “you alright there?—” before Oscar could ask, Lando slipped and fell forward, right into his embrace. 

“Oops, yikes. Slippery right there,” Lando stood back up, a grin on his face, and Oscar swore he saw Lando eyes flicker behind him for a second. 

Oscar turned to look, frowning when he found Charles standing a few feet away. Perfectly still. Staring. Like the human embodiment of the standing emoji. 

“Oookayyy, thanks for that, Osc.” Lando patted his arms, sitting down. Then he looked up, “what are you doing just standing? Hop on.”

Oscar made a soft oh sound, and climbed on. Being extra careful not to slip, Lando reached his hands out to offer help.

“You okay there? Slowly,” they both watched where Oscar stepped onto. 

Charles—whose boat was right beside them—climbed onto it, the paddle on his hands ‘accidentally’ knocked Oscar’s back. Pushing him forward. 

Oscar froze, eyes wide, realizing now that he was right on top of Lando—who seemed to not mind—from the wide grin on his face. “Hi there.”

Oscar quickly pushed himself up right, clearing his throat and trying to act normal, when he was well aware of the heat creeping up his neck. What the hell? He thought, eyes glanced sideways.

Charles’s expression was somewhere between sheepish and knowing look. Not even a hint of guilt, “oopsies.” He paddled away. Oscar chose to ignore it. I should stop drinking caffeine this much. 

The lake shimmered under the soft, golden sunlight, broken only by the ripples of paddles and the occasional splash that sounded way too intentional. Somewhere from the dock, a speaker started blasting a familiar beat.

🎵 Baby tonight, the DJ got us falling in love again… 🎵

Daniel’s voice immediately followed—loud, off-key, and full of unearned confidence. “🎵 So dance, dance like it’s the last, last night of your li—🎵”

“Daniel, paddle!” Max yelled, barely dodging a splash of water from Pierre, who had somehow mastered both balance and mischief.

“Multitasking, mate!” Daniel shouted back, striking a ridiculous pose with his paddle like it was a microphone—right before their kayak tipped. There was a short, high-pitched yelp (definitely Daniel’s) and a tremendous splash!

“And they’re out!” George called from his board, laughing so hard he nearly dropped his paddle.

Max surfaced, hair plastered to his face, coughing and shouting, “You did that on purpose!”

“You wish I had that kind of coordination!” Daniel sputtered, laughing as Pierre circled them like a shark.

Meanwhile, Alex and George had turned their tandem board into a race machine, chanting, “Go! Go! Go!” as they attempted to outpace Carlos and Charles—who were clearly not racing but somehow still winning by doing absolutely nothing.

“Lando!” Max screams from across, holding up his hat. “Keep this for me, I feel like this won't be the last time I fall in the water.” 

“Okay, throw it.” Lando slightly crouched up, catching the hat perfectly but out of a sudden Charles randomly came from behind, knocking onto Oscar’s and Lando’s boat, saying another, “oopsies.” That doesn't feel so much like one.

Lando stumbled and fell forward, hands wrapped around Oscars shoulder for stabiliser. “DUDE! Watch where you’re going! I almost fell!” Oscar could hear Lando scream from behind, a soft thud—probably Lando smacking Charles with the hat.

But Oscar was too stunned to speak, his mind doing that usual spiral with the slight touch and scent lingering far too long even after Lando lets go of him. He looked across, finding Max grinning in the same way Charles had done. What the hell is wrong with today, Oscar frowned.

Shrugging off when Lando’s voice cut into his thought, he insisted on steering, and Oscar let him. Handing the steer, bad decision, because of Lando's steering, it meant their boat would zigzagged so dramatically it looked like it was trying to draw cursive letters on the lake.

“You’re literally going sideways,” Oscar said, half-laughing, half-holding onto his paddle for dear life.

“No I'm not, this is how people do it,” Lando replied, completely serious. “It’s called technique.”

“Yeah? How’s that technique working out for you?” Oscar asked as their kayak lightly bumped into Pierre’s.

Pierre turned around, smirking. “You two on a romantic cruise or what?”

Oscar blinked, caught off guard. “We’re—”

Lando interrupted with a grin. “Obviously. You jealous?”

Oh. 

Oh. 

Oh? 

Pierre rolled his eyes, but his lips teased with a smile muttering something in French before darting off, splashing them both in his wake. 

Lando laughed, water droplets catching the light as he leaned back, shaking his head. “He totally is.” Oscar just smiled, quietly, trying not to jump off the boat. 

Max and Daniel were still clinging to their overturned kayak, George was pretending to commentate like a sports announcer, and Alex was trying to splash everyone within reach. It was chaos—loud, sunlit, messy, and perfect. Until it wasn't, turns out, the rain wanted to pay another visit. 

Everyone rushed, paddling back to the surface, not risking getting sick with the plans they had for tonight. 

Activities for the day:

✅First activity: lunch (and Cluedo)

✅Second activity: paddle boarding (stupid rain)

🔲Third activity: steam boat

Lando and Max made a quick supermarket run—meat, drinks, and far too much energy—and returned soaked through, rain dripping from hair and sleeves like they’d swum back instead of walking. 

“Oh my god, did you guys even bother using the umbrella I lent?” George scolded, grabbing the plastic bags from them.

Lando and Max glanced at each other before laughing. With half-shouted complaints and a scramble of footsteps, they bolted upstairs, both determined to claim the shower first.

George shook his head, “they’re gonna get sick. I just know it.” He walked to the fridge.

After a few minutes, 20 passed. The smell of fresh greens started to fill up the kitchen.

“Here, these are the only ones left.” Oscar pulled out the box of tea bags, placing them at the counter for Pierre who insisted on making everyone some warm tea. 

Charles, Daniel, Carlos and Alex crowded around the steamboat ingredients, the kitchen glowing with steam and laughter, a refuge from the storm rattling the windows.

“Oh my God, I’m freezing. Why is Max taking so long in the shower!?” 

Lando stumbled down the stairs, wrapped in towels like some rain-drenched saint, drops clinging to his curls, shivering through the fabric.

“Oscar, can I use your shower?”

“Hm? Oh yeah, of course, sure.” 

He nodded, already halfway toward the hall, but paused.

“Thanks. Oh—and you don’t happen to have a sweater or hoodie, do you? My long sleeves are all dirty because someone decided to baptize my luggage in orange juice. Looking at you, Alex.”

Alex dropped to his knees in dramatics, and laughter filled the room, warm and bright. Lando didn’t truly mind, everyone could tell, you could hear the smile hidden in his voice. 

Everything always seemed easy around him. 

Oscar believes that Lando was sun-kissed by nature since the moment he was born—he carried warmth in him so easily it hurt. He was the kind of person that could find you in your quiet places and made you feel understood, loved, without ever demanding you speak it into the air.

“Yeah, I do. You can shower first, I'll bring it to you later.”

“Sick, thanks, Osc.”

That nickname again. 

Oscar tried not to smile, tried to make the knife and vegetables demand focus. But of course, Max heard it, somehow felt it, breathed mischief. Max leaned behind Oscar, grinning like sin in candlelight. 

“Osc,” he whispered, parody and prophecy in one word. 

Oscar snorted, shoving him away, pretending he couldn’t hear the way his pulse had stuttered.

After rinsing the last of the vegetables and setting the knife aside, Oscar slipped away from the warmth and noise of the kitchen. 

He crouched beside the luggage, digging through folded fabric until his fingers brushed a clean hoodie—the one he’d decided would suit Lando before he even admitted it to himself—okay well maybe he would admit it.

A soft click sounded behind him. The bathroom door cracked open, steam curling into the room like a breath in winter. Lando peeked out, hair damp, eyes bright.

“Got one?”

Oscar turned, nodded, and crossed the short distance between them. He held the hoodie out like it was the most ordinary thing in the world and not a piece of himself he was offering. 

Lando smiled, quick and grateful, took it, and disappeared again, the door shutting with a gentle thud.

Oscar drifted toward the desk, fingertips brushing pens, then keys, then nothing at all—searching for a phone already in his pocket, for composure he couldn’t locate. He nearly escaped the moment entirely.

And then the door opened again.

Lando stepped out, rubbing at his curls—curls— that looked impossibly soft, glistening under the faint light, draped in a hoodie that belonged to Oscar. It hung off him perfectly, unfairly, like it had always been his. The sight hit sharper than expected, a warmth and ache tangled together.

Oscar turned away, shoulders tense, pretending to straighten a stack of papers that didn’t need straightening, pretending his pulse was steady.

“Thanks for letting me borrow your shirt,” Lando said, voice gentle as if he didn’t know the weight of it.

Oscar hummed, low, a sound more breath than voice. “Don’t worry about it.”

He glanced sideways when he noticed Lando walking toward him, towel draped around his neck. “Do you have to dry your hair like that?” he asked, watching as Lando scrunched his curls gently instead of rubbing them. The question came out more curious than teasing.

“Yeah,” Lando said, nodding. “If I rub it, it’ll mess my curls up.”

“Really?”

“Mm-hm. Having curls is exhausting, honestly. There’s a whole process, and half the time it still doesn’t end up looking or smelling right.”

Oscar huffed a soft laugh. “I would've never guessed. You always smell and look good.” The words slipped out before he could stop them.

He blinked once. Then again.

Lando froze for half a second, towel still in hand, before a slow grin tugged at his mouth. Oscar, meanwhile, was silently begging the earth to open up and swallow him whole.

Just as Lando was about to speak, the door burst open. “LET’S GO TO STEAMBOAT TOWN, GUYS!!!” Daniel yelled, grinning like he’d just discovered fire.

A beat later, Charles appeared behind him, hand already clamped over Daniel’s mouth as he tried to drag him back out.

“Sorry—sorry, hehe,” Charles muttered between muffled protests and laughter spilling into the hall.

Activities for the day:

✅First activity: lunch (and Cluedo)

✅Second activity: paddle boarding (stupid rain)

✅Third activity: steam boat

The arrow points at 2:19 AM. The group had just separated after a session of board games in the living room. 

Oscar walked out of his bathroom, arms stretched out, yawning. He stopped in front of the desk, took his ipod and started searching for songs to play. 

> playing “I, Carrion (Icarian)” — Hozier

He glanced at the clock, then at the door. The question whispering in the back of his mind, the same question he asked himself every night. He stopped the charade, hands braced against the wooden desk, leaning forward just slightly—head bowed, shoulders drawn in, as if silence itself pressed against him. For a moment, he stayed like that, caught between leaving to sleep and lingering just for a moment longer.

Then a soft knock came, Oscar turned his head so quick. 

Lando opened the door, just standing in the doorway silently. Like he had been hesitating. 

Oscar managed to ask, “sleepwalking again?” his voice almost came out like a whisper. 

“No, uh, wide awake.” Lando smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Oh,” Oscar breathed out. “Did you leave anything?”

“No, I actually, uh… have something for you,” Lando’s voice broke the quiet. He stepped closer, shuffling through his pocket before pulling out a small bracelet. 

“I found this woman selling them by the supermarket,” he said, fingers tracing the woven threads. “Thought I’d help her out. And then I saw this one…”

He turned it over in his palm, the dusky-blue thread catching the light.

“I thought of you,” he admitted softly, thumb brushing over the knot. “It’s a quiet kind of color, calm, but…” He paused, searching for words that wouldn’t sound too much. 

“But it stays with you,” Lando said, his gaze lifting.

Their eyes met—soft, hesitant, and suddenly too much. The world seemed to still around it, like the air had thickened just for them. Lando’s look wasn’t searching or deliberate, it was the kind that simply happened, like gravity—inevitable and pulling.

Oscar felt it first in his chest, a small, unsteady flutter that grew louder the longer it lasted. His breath stuttered, pulse quickening as if his heart was trying to memorize the rhythm of Lando’s silence.

Neither of them looked away. There was something fragile in the space between them, something that hummed like an unspoken word, the kind of feeling that trembles right before it’s named.

Oscar’s throat went dry. His fingers twitched against his side, aching for something he couldn’t quite reach. And still, Lando’s eyes stayed on him—warm, unsure, the corners softening into the faintest smile.

“Didn’t feel right leaving it behind.” 

Oscar’s eyes flickered to the bracelet only for a heartbeat before finding their way back to Lando. There was a meaning in his tone, a tremor beneath it that Oscar couldn’t quite decipher but felt all the same—something that hummed in his ribs, like a note struck too close to the heart.

“I have one myself, so uh. Hope you’ll keep it,” Lando said, fingers fidgeting with the bracelet on his wrist, the words half a question, half a confession.

Oscar wanted to say that he’d wear it, keep it, keep him—that he’d treasure anything Lando chose to give, even if it were nothing more than a torn page or a stray breath shared between them. The idea of refusing him didn’t even belong to this world.

“You don’t have to, though, I get it.” Lando murmured, starting to pull his hand back.

Oscar reached out first. “Wait,” he said, voice barely above a breath. “I love it. Thank you.” He took the bracelet gently, pulse quickening.

“Do you want to wear it now?” Lando asked.

“Yeah.”

“Oh, let me help.”

Lando stepped closer. Oscar instinctively took half a step back until the edge of the desk pressed against him. The air between them shifted—soft, electric. Lando’s fingers brushed his wrist as he tied the bracelet, skin to skin, warm and trembling.

Oscar didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath until it caught on its way out, a quiet sound in the small space between them. And Lando’s touch lingered—light, reverent—as if fastening the thread meant binding something neither of them dared to name yet.

Just as Lando finished the last knot, he tilted with a smile. “Blue kinda looks good on you, eh?” Lando said, his smile easy but his gaze softer now, rising to meet Oscar’s.

For a moment, neither of them moved. The space between them felt alive—something quiet yet charged, humming with everything unsaid.

Oscar’s breath came shallow. His hand, almost without thought, lifted halfway before he caught himself. He hesitated, fingers curling back slightly, unsure whether to close the distance or let the moment pass.

He reads Lando's expression, just one uncomfortable shift, and he’ll back away in an instant. But Lando kept his gaze on Oscar, hands still holding onto the strings on Oscar’s wrist. 

So Oscar lets his hands reach out, landing gently on Lando’s cheek. Lando leaned against his touch, like they had done this, had thought about this moment. 

“Lando,” he said softly. “It may or not have been the effect of my caffeine, but please correct me if what I'm doing is wrong.”  

No response, Lando just kept still. 

“Loops,” Oscar sighs. “You need to tell me what you want from me. Because I'm not making any mistakes with you.” Oscar waits, because this felt too good, too good to be true. 

He waited for the hesitation, the pull away, the retreat. 

“I want…” Lando’s voice trailed off, the words trembling on the edge of something fragile. He opened his mouth to speak again, but heavy footsteps thundered down the stairs, breaking the quiet like glass.

Both Lando and Oscar turned toward the door, their glances meeting in startled silence. It sounded like Charles.

Lando frowned. “Wait—I’m going to check on it.” He pulled away too quickly, the air where he’d just been still warm, and hurried out of the room.

Oscar followed, stopping by the doorway. From there, he watched as Charles stumbled into the hall, his body shaking with sobs. Before Oscar could even process it, Charles had fallen into Lando’s arms. Lando caught him instantly, holding him tight, one hand pressed to the back of his head, the other drawing small circles against his back.

“Hey, hey. What’s wrong?” Lando’s voice softened, urgent but steady. He leaned back just enough to see Charles’s face, his fingers brushing tears from his cheek.

Charles tried to speak, but his voice broke around the words. “Max,” he gasped out. “I think— I think he’s going to break up with me.” There it was.

The hesitation.

The pull away.

The retreat—written plainly across Lando’s face, in the tiny falter of his breath, in the way his eyes darted anywhere but Oscar’s.

Lando gathered Charles close again, arms circling him with a tenderness that should’ve been comforting—but all Oscar could see was the way Lando’s shoulders curled inward, how fear crept back into his every movement. He was holding Charles, yes, but it looked like he was bracing himself against something unseen.

For a fleeting second, Lando’s eyes lifted—met Oscar’s across the space between them. It was enough to make Oscar’s heart catch, to make hope flare like a match. But then Lando looked away, the moment extinguished before it could even breathe.

And just like that, the distance returned. Not in miles, not in walls, but in the quiet unspoken things—fear, doubt, hesitation—that stretched wider than any room could hold.

Lando was right there, only an arm’s reach away. Yet Oscar could feel him slipping, further than he’d ever been before.

It was a strange kind of pain—the kind that didn’t crash or burn, but hollowed. The kind that left Oscar standing there, words caged behind his teeth, realizing that maybe he’d just lost something he never even got to have.

Chapter Text

Lando couldn’t sleep the entire night.

He’d stayed beside Charles until the first light bled through the curtains, listening as everything came undone. Charles told him how it started—a small argument, something about how Max never seemed to take things seriously, especially them. 

Since they’d been friends for years before they ever started dating, the line between comfort and complacency was one they often tripped over.

At first, Charles hadn’t minded. They’d had that talk before—laughed it off, let it die. Because it was true. They had been best friends long before they were lovers. But this time, Max hadn’t let it go. He pushed, sharp and insistent, as though trying to prove something neither of them wanted to name.

And then came the words Charles could barely hear without breaking.

“I knew this would happen eventually.”

When Daniel walked in, Max wouldn’t even look at him. Just muttered, “Charles, can we not talk about this right now?”

It wasn’t how the night was supposed to go. Just hours earlier, when they’d been playing Cluedo, Lando had told Charles about his feelings for Oscar. Charles grinned, and promised a plan. Max had teased him, but even he had looked genuinely happy for them.

Everything had felt so easy then—bright, possible.

For the first time, Lando thought maybe loving a friend wasn’t a disaster waiting to happen. If Charles and Max could do it—if they could take that risk—then maybe he could, too. Maybe it was safe to want Oscar.

And then came the moment. Oscar, quiet but certain, eyes steady on him.

“Loops. You need to tell me what you want from me. Because I’m not making any mistakes with you.”

It had been so clear in his mind—I want you. He’d rehearsed it over and over, the words soft and certain, ready to finally let them go.

“I want…”

But then Charles and Max happened. The cracks in their love showed, and suddenly everything Lando believed began to slip. Every fear he’d ever had about falling for a friend came rushing back—sharp, familiar, and heavy.

So he sat there, rubbing circles into Charles’s back, whispering soft reassurances he didn’t quite believe. 

And somewhere in the quiet, between Charles’s trembling breaths, Lando felt it—that same ache he saw in Charles’s eyes, settling into his own chest. This could happen to me, he believed. 

And he didn't want that. 

Lando rose quietly from the couch, careful not to wake Charles. The blanket had slipped down to his waist, so he pulled it back up, tucking it gently around his shoulders. Charles mumbled something in his sleep, the kind of fragile sound that only comes from being too tired to feel anything anymore.

The sky outside was still dark and half-asleep, the kind of blue that looks warm until you realize it’s only light, not heat. The cabin was hushed except for the faint ticking of the clock—4:21 AM—and Charles’s steady breathing. The air smelled faintly of last night’s rain and wood smoke.

Lando stood by the counter, fingers wrapped around an empty mug. He didn’t know why he picked it up—maybe to keep his hands from shaking, maybe to feel less like a ghost in the quiet. 

He looked down into the empty cup and realized he hadn’t made anything in this kitchen once. Not coffee. Not tea. Not even a sandwich. He’d just been in the space, never part of it.

He ran a hand through his hair, the motion slow and absent, and sighed. The sound barely reached his own ears.

He turned, leaning back against the counter, closing his eyes. For a fleeting moment, he tried to breathe. The room was so still he could hear the soft hum of the refrigerator, the whisper of wind outside against the cabin’s walls.

Then—footsteps. Soft, hesitant. The sound of a door creaking open.

Oscar stepped into the dim light, barefoot, hair a little messy and haloed by the first blush of morning. His eyes were shadowed, dark crescents pressed into the skin beneath them. It was clear neither of them had slept.

Their eyes met, and it was like the air shifted shape—thickening, trembling, caught somewhere between warmth and ache. Neither of them said anything at first. The silence was alive, humming with all the things they hadn’t said, all the almosts’ that had been swallowed by fear.

“Morning,” Oscar said softly.

Lando swallowed. “Hey.”

Just one syllable—but it carried the weight of everything he couldn’t let out. Oscar took a few slow steps closer. 

Careful, deliberate, like he was afraid that even his footsteps might break something fragile between them. His gaze flicked to Charles, then back to Lando.

“You didn’t sleep,” he said.

Lando shook his head. “Couldn’t.”

Silence again. But not the comfortable kind. This one beat. It pulsed with something alive and aching.

Lando could feel it in the way Oscar’s eyes lingered on him—how they softened, then faltered, like even looking hurt. He could feel it in his own hands, trembling slightly against the mug, fighting the instinct to reach out.

The early light caught in Oscar’s hair, painting it gold. He looked unreal in that moment—gentle and unreachable, like something you could love but never touch. 

For a heartbeat, Lando wanted to step forward, close the space between them, press his forehead against Oscar’s shoulder and just breathe.

But he didn’t. With only the question he kept asking himself, is he going to risk the friendship?

No. Lando pushed the thought away. Not after last night. Not after watching love fall apart in real time.

“Made coffee?” Oscar asked softly.

Lando just hummed. 

He could feel Oscar’s gaze dip to the empty mug in his hands, that faint shift of awareness that made Lando feel suddenly, unbearably exposed.

Oscar didn’t comment. He just moved closer, quiet as a breath, reaching for a cup from the cupboard above them. His arm brushed Lando’s shoulder—not enough to count, but just enough to be felt.

The touch lingered.

Lando gripped his mug tighter. His knuckles whitened. His heart stumbled in his chest, and he forced himself to look away, to pretend the nightlamp on the counter was more interesting than the person standing beside him.

Oscar moved with quiet focus, almost ritualistic. He took out a pack of sugar, tapped one into his palm, set the rest on the counter. Then, walking around Lando, he reached for the coffee machine. 

Their shoulders nearly touched again—nearly—and the air between them wavered.

Lando could feel the warmth of him. The steady rhythm of someone who didn’t have to say much to be understood.

Oscar tamped the coffee grounds with careful precision, thumb brushing the edge to clear the excess, before locking the portafilter into place. The faint hiss of water meeting heat filled the silence. The first drops of espresso fell slow and heavy, their scent dark and rich—bittersweet, like the kind of love that never got a chance to exist.

Lando watched him, eyes tracing the small movements of his hands. The way his fingers curved. The way the dusky-blue thread still clung to his wrist. The bracelet.

Lando wanted to speak—to say something, anything—but his throat stayed closed, his chest tight. His hands twitched, wanting to reach out, to feel that small piece of thread between his fingers, to tell Oscar everything he hadn’t been able to yesterday.

Their knuckles brushed once. Just a whisper of contact. Neither of them moved. Neither even breathed.

It was nothing—and somehow everything.

When the espresso was done, Oscar set the cup down gently, like it might break if he let it go too hard. Lando stretched his fingers, then curled them into the hem of his hoodie—Oscar’s hoodie. The one he’d borrowed. Chocolate. 

The steam curled upward between them, thin and ghostly. Oscar glanced over, eyes catching Lando’s just for a moment. The look was quiet but heavy, an unspoken language that said I know, even if he didn’t.

Neither of them spoke.

Lando was the first to look away, eyes dropping to his cup. He heard the soft clink of ceramic behind him, Oscar’s footsteps fading back toward his room. The door clicked shut, gently, like even that small sound was too loud for the moment they’d just broken.

Lando exhaled. The kind of breath that trembled on its way out. His pulse thudded painfully against his ribs. He turned. A second mug sat on the counter behind him—still steaming. 

Oscar hadn’t made the coffee for himself. He’d made it for Lando. Because of course he did. Because somehow Oscar always knew. 

Then a soft melody came from Oscar rooms, it was soft—not to wake anyone up, but loud enough for Lando to listen. 

> playing “Unknown / Nth” — Hozier

Lando could remember those guitar chords like he was born knowing them—each note carved somewhere deep in him. It was his song, the one he used to play in the empty music room, when the world felt too loud and he needed somewhere quiet to breathe. 

That room had always been his refuge—silent, forgotten, safe. A sanctuary where the world couldn’t reach him, where no one could see the parts of himself he tried to hide between every strum of the guitar.

Now, the melody drifted through the cabin again—gentle, familiar. He let it settle inside him, filling the space between thought and feeling, smoothing out the nerves for just a heartbeat. 

His gaze dropped to the bracelet resting in his wrist. He swallowed once, steadying himself.

If I’m not going to risk my friendship for my desire, he breathed out slowly, then I need to protect what we still have.

With a quiet exhale, he pushed himself up.

He walked to Oscar’s door, knuckles tapping before he could talk himself out of it. When he cracked it open, Oscar was crouched beside the bed, staring at god who knows what.

He blinked up, startled—clearly not expecting company. Truthfully, Lando hadn’t expected to show up here either.

A beat of silence stretched between them.

“Are we okay?” Lando asked quietly, voice barely above the music still humming through the house.

Oscar blinked again, slower this time. He rose to his feet, uncertain. “You mean…?”

“Our friendship,” Lando clarified quickly, hands moving as if trying to grab the right words from the air. 

“We’re still good, right? I mean—because Max is really close to you, and Charles and I are close, and I just didn’t want you to think that—maybe—I don’t know, I just didn’t want us to be weird, or like… you, y’know—?”

His thoughts crashed into each other, mouth running faster than his confidence could catch up.

“Yeah.” Oscar cut him off softly, voice gentle, almost careful. “Yeah. Our friendship is… okay.” The words left him too quietly, too breathlessly.

“Great.” Lando smiled—tight, fragile. It didn’t reach his eyes. They both knew why. “Great, okay. Thank God. Because I just— I assumed maybe you didn’t— I don’t know, it’s stupid, never mind.”

He wanted to talk about yesterday, but the question stuck in his throat. His breath caught instead.

“Uh.” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “I like this song.”

Oscar let out a quiet, almost amused snort, looking away. “Mm.” A pause. “Me too.”

Silence draped itself between them again—thick, uncomfortable.

“You forgot your coffee outside,” Lando said, too quickly, grasping at anything.

“I don’t drink coffee,” Oscar replied.

Oh.

Lando nodded. “Right. Okay. Uh… see you in the morning.”

He stepped back, almost tripping over himself in his hurry to leave, and closed the door before Oscar could answer. His heart thudded hard against his ribs, refusing to calm.

Outside, he exhaled shakily, as if he’d just sprinted instead of spoken five sentences.

.

.

The morning came softly, sunlight spilling through the thin curtains, followed by the familiar chaos of voices echoing through the cabin. 

George and Daniel were already up—loud, off-key, and unapologetically singing some old pop song as they made breakfast. Their laughter filled the kitchen, mixing with the smell of coffee and toast, pulling everyone else from sleep one by one.

Soon, the living room was alive with movement—blankets, half-empty mugs, and sleepy smiles scattered everywhere. It was their usual morning routine, noisy and warm, like nothing in the world could touch them.

Completely oblivious to the tension that threaded between the two of their friends.

Charles and Max sat close, but not close enough. They spoke in short, careful sentences, the kind that left too much unsaid. 

Every now and then, Max would glance at Charles, only to look away before their eyes could meet. Charles smiled through it—soft, polite, practiced—but his fingers fidgeted against his mug, restless.

Across the room, Lando sat on the floor beside the couch, his knees drawn up, pretending to listen to Daniel’s story about some ridiculous camping trip. He could feel Oscar’s presence just behind him, leaning against the armrest, quiet as ever. 

Every time Oscar shifted, every small movement, it was like the air changed—sharp and charged, brushing against Lando’s skin.

Then George clapped his hands, far too cheerful for the hour. “Alright, everyone!” he said, grinning. “You know what time it is.” A chorus of groans filled the room.

“Not again,” Pierre muttered.

“I’m surprised you’re not used to it yet,” Carlos said, mouth full. 

George ignored the comment, already pulling his laptop onto the coffee table. Within seconds, the projector flickered to life, casting his familiar PowerPoint onto the wall.

The title slide appeared in bold letters (per-usual): ‘Cabin Day 6: Friendship, Fresh Air, and Functional Group Dynamics!’

Alex burst out laughing. “You actually put that on a slide?”

“I’m setting the tone,” George replied, clicking to the next slide. “We’ve got a full day ahead. So most of the time spent today will be at the town, since Pierre and Daniel weren't with us the first time. Morning fishing, brunch by the lake, then we’ll drive to the town and check a history place Alex searched about previously.”

“Not really close to a town, Stourhead Gardens. An 18th-century landscape garden designed like a real life painting— and remember the rain scene in Pride and Prejudice? That place was inspired by the temple of Apollo located right at Stourhead Gardens.” Alex continued the talk. 

“Wow,” Daniel said.

Alex smiled proudly. “I know. I—“

“You’re actually such a nerd. It’s crazy. And I thought Max and Oscar were the worst nerds here,” Daniel cut him off and shook his head in awe plus disbelief. 

Alex protested, throwing a pillow at him.

The room erupted in laughter, the kind that made everything feel almost normal. Almost. Because beneath the noise and warmth, there was still that quiet undercurrent—two fragile connection barely holding together.

Charles’ gaze lingered on Max for a beat too long before he forced himself to smile again. 

And Lando, from the corner of his eye, caught Oscar looking at him—steady, unreadable. Lando looked away first. Always.

The next slide appeared—bright colors, too many bullet points, George still rambling—but Lando couldn’t focus. His laughter came a second too late. His chest felt too tight, like he was caught between wanting to stay and wanting to run.

And when Oscar’s shoulder brushed his just slightly as he leaned forward to grab his tea, Lando's eyes couldn’t help but glanced sideways. 

Oscar's eyes shift towards him, and their eyes meet. 

“Hi,” Oscar smiled. Smiled.

“Hi.” Lando replied, and he swore the whole world went quiet again—just for a heartbeat.

Activities for the day:

✅First activity: fishing

✅Second activity: brunch by the lake

🔲Third activity: visit Stourhead Gardens

🔲Fourth activity: BBQ AGAIN!!!!

The sun was shining bright, spilling golden light across the open fields. Daniel and Pierre had already run off, chasing each other like overgrown children, laughter echoing across the hills. Alex was showing George and Carlos around as if he were the tour guide, rambling about the place’s history and the architects behind it.

Lando wandered a little further away, his camera hanging from his neck. The view was unreal—rolling hills, a shimmering lake, and the grand bridge framed by the temple beyond. 

It looked exactly like the Pride and Prejudice set—technically, it was—but seeing it in real life was breathtaking. The air even smelled different here, rich with grass and stone and something ancient.

It was crazy to think he was standing where that iconic rain scene had been filmed.

“Ughhh, if only it were raining!” Alex had screamed a few minutes ago, throwing his hands to the sky. And as if the gods had been listening, the clouds began to roll in—heavy and gray, rumbling low.

Lando smiled, lowering his camera to take another photo of the bridge. His eyes were still on the screen when his shoe caught a slick pebble. He slipped before he even realized it—and landed flat on his backside.

From a distance, Daniel dropped to one knee like a soldier in a tragic film. “NOOOOO! LANDO!!!” he cried dramatically, his voice echoing across the gardens.

Which, obviously, attracted everyone else’s attention towards Lando.

“Dude! You okay?!” George and Pierre sync, already walking towards him.

“NO LANDOOOO!!!” Daniel wailed again, even more dramatically.

“Dude, really? You’re acting like I’m dying,” Lando blinked. “I’m okay, it’s just a slip.” He said, reassuring the others that he was okay.

He stood—and immediately winced. Pain flared sharp and sudden in his ankle.

“You sprained your ankle? Let me see,” George kneeled down. Checking and examining Lando’s ankle that was slightly turning redder, “yikes, pretty bad, you okay?”

Lando nodded, “bearable.” 

Then Carlos looked up, hand out. “Wait, did anyone—?” A cold drop landed on his palm. Then another. And another.

“Holy—HOLY FUCK! IT’S ACTUALLY RAINING!” Alex shouted, first delighted, then horrified, because today was the worst day to be sick. “Wait—shit—I’M GONNA GET SICK!”

Alex cursed, yanking George off the ground and to take cover. With George yelling Lando’s name, and Alex too busy yelling to not hear him. Pierre, Carlos and Daniel were also already on their way to take cover. Max and Charles were still nowhere to be seen.

“Dude, wtf?” Lando sighed but laughed, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.”

He turned to walk, but before he could take a step, an arm slipped around his waist, firm and steady. A second hand guided his arm around a shoulder.

“Can you walk?” Oscar’s voice was close, too close, warm against his cheek.

Lando blinked, then nodded. “Yeah.”

“Alright, c’mon. Let’s go.” 

They moved slowly, the drizzle turning heavier by the second. Lando gritted his teeth, his ankle throbbing. He tried to hide it, but a quiet grunt escaped his lips.

“You—” Oscar glanced down at him, then at the swelling ankle. His brows furrowed. "I'm going to carry you, is that alright?” 

Lando froze, what, he thought. Caught between panic and disbelief. The idea of being held by him that close made something inside him twist and flutter. He just nodded, unable to form words.

Oscar didn’t hesitate. He bent down and lifted Lando easily, careful and sure, like he’d done it a hundred times. The rain soaked through both their clothes, water running down their faces, but Oscar’s grip never loosened.

By the time they reached the Temple of Apollo, they were drenched. Oscar set Lando gently against the stone wall, taking a deep breath and groaning softly. Lando smiled, then laughed. 

Oscar turned to him, confused but smiling, “what’s so funny?”

“You,” Lando said, still laughing. “You hate the rain so much. Every time it starts, your frown just—appears like clockwork.”

Oscar huffed, chuckling. “Well it’s not very fun to get sick afterwards, y’know? Plus rain leaves a sticky feeling on your skin. It’s uncomfortable.” He tugged off his jacket, wringing it out before walking over to Lando. 

Without a word, he draped it around Lando’s shoulders. Lando tried not to stare, but it was merely impossible not to. His inner shirt was less drenched but it wasn’t loose, defining his biceps in ways Lando could never imagine. 

Oscar knelt in front of him, hands reaching for his ankle.

“I’m okay—” Lando started, flustered. “The floor’s wet, Osc. You’ll ruin your pants.” He bent his knee, hands reaching to Oscar’s elbow, signaling him to stand back up.

But Oscar didn’t budge, “I can clean my pants, Lan. Your ankle is much more important to me than my pants.” His hands gently took Lando’s leg, checking the bruise forming on his ankle.

Lando tried not to notice how fast his heart was beating—how it stumbled over itself, traitorous and loud in his chest. But the longer he looked at Oscar, the worse it got. Every breath felt too shallow, every second too still. 

He couldn’t tear his gaze away, not when the rain caught in Oscar’s hair like glass beads, not when his fingers moved so carefully over his skin.

A small sound escaped him, almost a laugh, almost a sigh. “No wonder Max liked you so much,” he murmured, leaning back against the cold stone.

Oscar didn’t look up, though his brows drew together slightly. “What do you mean by that?” His voice was soft—not curious, exactly, but steady. Like he wanted Lando to know he was listening. His hands kept moving, slow circles against the tender skin of Lando’s ankle.

“The first time Max saw you— years ago, he wouldn’t stop talking about you,” Lando said. His voice felt small under the rain. “Said you were the kindest person he’d ever met. I think it was because you broke your pencil in half for him during an exam. He’d forgotten his.”

Oscar huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

“I thought it was stupid,” Lando went on, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Said Max had gone soft. But now…” He paused, his voice gentling. “Now I get it. I don’t think I ever really saw you before. And now that I have, I can’t unsee it. It’s crazy, because right now you’re—” He hesitated. “You’re one of my favorite friend.”

He looked away, the words falling before he could stop them. “You do things my other friends wouldn’t even think of doing. Like, when I broke my wrist, George and Alex wouldn’t even carry my lunchbox for me. But you…” He swallowed, glancing down. “You’d do things like that without being asked. Sometimes I even feel as if I'm being an inconvenience for you.”

Oscar’s hands stilled. The space between them tightened—full of rain, breath, heartbeat.

Lando frowned, panic flickering in his chest. “Wait—did I say something wrong?” He stumbled over his words, flustered. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way, I swear. I just meant—it’s nice. It’s different. I’m not saying that you—”

Oscar cut him off—not sharply, but with a voice so soft it seemed to still the rain itself. “Lando.”

Lando froze, eyes flicking down. “Yeah?”

Oscar finally looked at him. And in that moment, the world seemed to slow—raindrops suspended midair, breath caught between them. The kind of silence that felt heavy with everything unspoken.

“I’d love to be inconvenienced by you,” Oscar said quietly. His voice trembled just slightly, the truth sitting raw in his throat. “I wouldn’t mind being inconvenienced by you for the rest of my life.”

There it was—relief, fragile and shaking, as though he’d been holding those words behind his teeth for far too long. The rain filled the pause that followed, gentle but relentless, drumming against stone and skin.

“I hope it’s clear,” Oscar continued, barely above a whisper now, “that I’m not doing this just as your friend.”

His eyes dropped, lashes wet, hands still hovering just shy of Lando’s skin. “You’re one of my favorite people,” he said. “And I’m happy that you call me your favorite friend… but I—” his voice cracked, “I’m sorry that I want you to be more than that.”

Lando blinked. Once. Twice. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

Oscar went on, as if he had to get it all out before the courage disappeared. “I tried, y’know? I tried to see you as just my friend. I really did. But every time you smiled—every time you laughed, or ran your hand through your hair, or sighed when you thought no one could hear you—I just…” 

He swallowed. “I wanted to touch you. To kiss that small crease between your brows when you’re thinking too hard. And you’re not supposed to want to kiss your friend.”

Lando’s pulse stuttered. He didn’t know what to say—what could he possibly say? That he didn’t believe him? That this couldn’t possibly be real?

Because he didn’t know—God, he didn’t know—that to Oscar, he was the only divine thing left in the world. The only proof of something holy, something worth kneeling for.

Oscar didn’t care how many times Lando pulled or pushed, how many times he shut the door only to open it halfway again. His heart had long accepted its ruin. It had always belonged to Lando—to be bruised by him, broken by him, and still, somehow, beat for him.

Lando couldn’t look at him for too long. Because in Oscar’s eyes, he saw it—the kind of devotion that frightened him, the kind that demanded to be believed. The kind that asked, what if love isn’t supposed to be safe? What if it’s supposed to hurt a little, just like this?

Oscar looked down at his hands, now still and trembling. “By you, I am forever undone.” For a moment, the world seemed to stop breathing with them.

Then, gently, Lando moved—lowering himself onto the wet stone, until they were level. He reached out, covering Oscar’s shaking hands with his own.

Oscar looked up. Their eyes met, and Lando swore he could feel the world tilting slightly off its axis.

“You are,” Oscar whispered, voice low but steady, “and always have been, my dream.” His lips curved into something sad and reverent. “And I would wait—hell, I would wait an eternity—to prove to the heavens that I deserve you.”

He drew in a shaking breath. “That’s it, thank you.” Oscar pulled away, standing up. Lando blinked, confused and looked up, “wha–” Oscar cuts him off again.

“Thank you for listening to me—”

“Wait what? No— where do you think you’re going!? Don’t I get to have a say in this?! Get back down here, dude!” Lando yanked him back down, Oscar groaned, startled. “Oops, sorry.” Lando nervously chuckled.

Oscar was about to speak again, but Lando covered his mouth with his palm.

“What you asked yesterday,” Lando began, his voice trembling just enough to make it real. “About what I want. I want you.” He exhaled like he’d been holding the words for years. “But I’m not gonna lie—I’m scared. Because I don’t want to lose what we have. This friendship. I’m terrified that if we cross that line, and something happens… I’ll lose someone I love, and my best friend all at once.”

He paused, searching Oscar’s eyes. “But I can’t just ignore it because of that. I can’t stop wanting you.”

Oscar blinked, silent. The rain softened against the window, steady as breath.

“And at first,” Lando continued, voice cracking with a nervous laugh, “I wanted us to just be friends. Especially after everything that happened with Charles and Max. But I couldn’t even think straight with you. Like— I like you, dude. Especially when you say stuff that sounds like it’s straight out of some Shakespearean love confession.” He gestured vaguely around them. “And not to mention this place?”

Oscar’s lips twitched into the smallest smile. He broke free from Lando’s hand. “Wait—wait, wait.” His brows lifted. “You like me?”

Lando blinked, a little incredulous. “Yeah. Why’d you think I went to your room yesterday?”

Oscar stared for a beat, then said quietly, “Why’d you think I left my door unlocked for you every night?”

The silence that followed was almost holy. 

Then, softly—“I’m sorry for this.”

Oscar leaned in. The world fell away with the sound of rain against stone. Their lips met halfway—soft at first, uncertain—then all at once. It felt like surrender. Like confession. Like every word they’d never said spilling out in silence.

Lando froze, heart hammering, before his eyes fluttered shut and he melted into it. Oscar smiled against his mouth when he felt him kiss back. His hand rose to the side of Lando’s neck, pulling him closer, grounding him there in that moment—the taste of rain, the warmth of breath, the quiet, desperate relief of finding something that had always been waiting.

Then Oscar pulled back just enough to whisper, voice breathless and unsure, “So… this means we’re officially dating, right? Because if this is a friend thing, I don’t think I can—”

“Yes, we are,” Lando cut him off with a grin, his hand finding the back of Oscar’s neck. And before another word could be said, he pulled him back in—this time fiercer, surer. A kiss that felt like the sky itself was finally breaking open for them, like the rain had been waiting just to bless this moment. 

A kiss that made Lando want nothing more than to breathe the same air, to live off the air in Oscar’s lungs.

“Sorry—what?” Lando pulled back, staring at him like he’d grown a second head. Oscar just groaned, rubbing a hand over his face.

Then Max appeared, sliding an arm around Charles’ waist, both of them wearing matching smug grins.

Lando blinked, pointing. “What the fuck? Didn’t you two—? Huh?”

Max chuckled. “You’re insane if you think I’d ever say those words to my Charlie. He was exaggerating.” He looked at Charles, amused. “This is how relationships work, kid. We fight, then make up the next day.”

Charles, suddenly sheepish, admitted, “Okay, maybe I… embellished a little.” He leaned into Max’s shoulder as Max shook his head, still smiling.

“Charlie, my love,” Max sighed dramatically, “you scared them half to death.”

“Worth it,” Charles declared proudly, turning to the others. “I told you—put them in a romantic, historical garden, add a bit of rain, boom! Love story. Plus, it makes up for the mess I caused.”

Lando paused. 

Then he laughed—loudly. Too loudly. The kind of laugh that echoes through the stone hall like a warning siren. Everyone froze, exchanging nervous glances.

“Uh…” Pierre muttered. “Should we— should we be laughing too?”

Daniel, ever the chaos enabler, burst out laughing anyway. Then George awkwardly joined in. Carlos followed. And soon the whole group was cackling like they weren’t sure if they were in danger or part of the joke.

Oscar pressed his lips together, trying hard not to grin, because he knew exactly what was happening. He stepped beside Lando, slipping an arm around his waist and guiding one of Lando’s around his shoulders.

“Alright,” Oscar murmured, voice low, amused. “Let’s go, loops.”

Lando’s laughter cut off instantly. The smile vanished. He turned toward the others, rain dripping down his face, eyes blazing.

“I FUCKING HATE YOU ALL! GO SUCK (BEEP BEEP) I SWEAR I WILL (BEEP BEEP) TILL YOU GUYS (BEEP BEEP) OH DON’T EVEN THINK I WONT (BEEP BEEP) UNTIL YOU ALL (BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP).”

Everyone froze.

“Oh, fuck,” Pierre whispered. “He’s actually mad.”

Charles blinked, then pointed accusingly at Max. “This is all your fault!”

“My fault? You were the one who started this, love!”

“LANDO, I’M SORRY!” Charles wailed, suddenly sprinting after him through the rain, slipping twice but refusing to stop.

Behind him came the rest of the group—Daniel laughing, George yelling apologies between hysterics, Alex filming the chaos on his phone, Pierre and Carlos tripping over each other trying to keep up.

It looked like a colony of panicked ants chasing after their queen. 

.

.

The night didn’t end with Lando’s screaming—though everyone suspected it might.

They found him under the porch roof, arms crossed, still drenched from the rain. His curls stuck to his forehead, his expression halfway between fury and exhaustion.

Charles approached first, hands raised like he was negotiating with a wild animal. “Okay, before you murder me—”

Lando glared.

“—we brought peace offerings,” Charles finished, gesturing frantically at Pierre, who held up a large box.

“Kinder Eggs,” Carlos announced solemnly, shaking the box for effect.

Lando stared at them for a long moment. The group stood completely still, waiting.

Then, finally, Lando sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “You guys are so fucking stupid.”

“Is that a yes?” Alex asked hopefully.

Lando grabbed the box and walked back inside without answering. But the small, reluctant smile tugging at his lips said enough.

Within an hour, the air was thick with the smell of grilled meat and laughter. They’d dragged the portable barbecue down to the dock, the night alive with flickering flames and the soft lapping of the lake against the wood. Daniel kept over-salting everything, George burned half the skewers, and Max lectured everyone about “proper heat distribution” until Alex threw a shrimp at him.

It was loud, messy, perfect.

By the time they moved back into the living room, everyone was full, sleepy, and draped across couches and beanbags. They played some ridiculous party game George insisted on—something that ended with Pierre having to serenade Carlos in falsetto while wearing Charles’s hoodie as a cape.

The laughter echoed late into the night.

Eventually, people began peeling off—murmured goodnights, footsteps fading down the hall, doors clicking shut one by one. The storm outside had softened into a quiet drizzle. The house was still again.

Activities for the day:

✅First activity: fishing

✅Second activity: brunch by the lake

✅Third activity: visit Stourhead Gardens

✅Fourth activity: BBQ AGAIN!!!!

Knock, knock

Oscar looked up from his phone. The soft glow from the bedside lamp painted his face in gold.

The door creaked open, and there was Lando—half a grin, hair a mess, eyes bright even in the dim light.

“Sleepwalking again?” Oscar teased, voice low and lazy.

“No.” Lando slipped through the door, bare feet silent on the floorboards.

“Oh?” Oscar tilted his head, pretending to look serious. “Then what can I help you with, loops?”

Lando hummed, pretending to think, his finger tapping his chin as he took a step closer… then another. Oscar’s lips curved into a knowing smile, already shaking his head before Lando even reached him.

In one smooth motion, Oscar caught his wrist, tugging him down onto the bed. Lando let out a startled laugh that melted into a soft squeal as he fell onto Oscar’s chest.

“Gotcha,” Oscar murmured, wrapping his arms around him, locking him there. Their laughter filled the quiet room—messy, breathless, happy.

“Hi,” Lando said, still giggling, forehead pressed against Oscar’s.

“Hi, loops,” Oscar whispered back, his voice the kind of soft that made everything else fade away. 

And then—

“You two are fucking disgusting. At least close your doors, please.” Daniel stood at the doorway, arms crossed, looking equal parts horrified and amused.

Lando turned, ready to start another argument, but Oscar beat him to it. He cupped Lando’s cheek, pressed a quick kiss to his lips, and—without even looking—flipped Daniel off.

Daniel gasped, hand over his heart, pretending to stumble back. “Ouch, Oscar. Ouch. I raised you better than this.”

Lando snorted, collapsing into laughter against Oscar’s shoulder, while Oscar just smiled—utterly unbothered.