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Cambridge University assigns dorm rooms at random. So Lando has no idea who the lucky guy will be that he will be sharing this room for the next year. Lando sighs. He looks around the small bedroom with two beds on either side of the room, two desks crammed up next to each other. He secretly hopes it wouldn’t be some neat freak but rather someone he can actually talk to and have fun with. After all he is not just here because of studying but to have the greatest time of his life before settling down in a job.
He steps over to open his bags and hangs up the fairy lights he brought with him. His room isn’t his room when there is not at least one fairy light hanging from the ceiling. Lando hums while he works, his open bag by the floor long forgotten until…
“Excuse me, could you move that?” A sharp voice comes from the door. When Lando turns around he sees a boy his age with wavy light brown hair and a black suitcase standing at the door – which is blocked by Lando’s bags.
“Sorry, going to move that.” Lando apologies while rushing to get to the bags and almost tripping over the bedpost. The boy raises his eyebrows and looks at Lando with a hint of disgust. When the bags are moved Lando straightens up and holds out his hand.
“I’m Lando, nice to meet you.”
“Oscar.” The other one says but makes no move to shake Lando’s hand who drops it awkwardly after a while.
“So…” Lando tries again while scratching his head. “I already claimed this bed, hope that’s okay with you.” Oscar scans the bed and the fairy lights hanging from the ceiling sneering a little bit. Lando bites his lip. This will be fun he can feel it.
Unfortunately, Lando’s feeling is right. The first weeks of living together are hell. Lando doesn’t get to know much about Oscar other than he is from Australia and here at Cambridge on a scholarship but he learns that the Australian is quiet and obsessively organized, he’s carrying color-coded notes and a semester planner that could rival a NASA launch schedule.
They argue constantly. About the window being open (Lando) or closed (Oscar) at night. About staying up all night (Lando) or going to bed exactly at ten o’clock (Oscar). About the room being too messy on Lando’s side and too tidy on Oscar’s. One day they are constantly bickering when Lando practices one of his presentations in front of the mirror while Oscar is trying to study in silence.
It goes on and on like this until Alex and George – the couple from next door Lando had befriended – openly speculate when one of the two will either kill the other or kiss them. Bets are on both. Lando finds it ridiculous. As if he would ever kiss Oscar “Boring” Piastri. (He might kill him though.)
The worst part is that they share almost every class. Despite Oscar being one and a half year younger than Lando he still somehow managed to be in the same year. (Lando conveniently forgot that he had taken a gap year after school.) So, there is no escaping each other. And it takes its toll. On both of them.
It gets even worse when they get paired up for every single project this year.
Lando stares at the list in front of their professor’s office, willing the letters to rearrange themselves into something – anything – else. Of course, they don’t do him that kind of favour.
Group 5: Norris L., Piastri O.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Lando mutters under his breath. When he sees some movement next to him, he slowly turns around. Of course it is Oscar, standing next to him, writing something in his planner, pen moving with infuriating calmness. No complaint. No sigh. As if this is simply another obstacle to be managed.
Lando doesn’t comment on it. But on the inside, he is fuming.
The first group meeting is tense from the start. Oscar immediately takes charge, dividing tasks with military precision.
“I’ll handle the calculations and documentation,” he says. “Lando, you can…”
“Wow,” Lando cuts in, leaning back in his chair. “Didn’t realize you were promoted to group leader.”
Oscar looks at him coolly. “I’m just being efficient.”
“Right. Of course you are.”
They glare at each other and then get absorbed in their work again.
What Oscar doesn’t expect is that Lando is… good. Annoyingly good. When they split work, he finishes his part early. Correctly. Sometimes even faster than Oscar. He doesn’t follow Oscar’s methods, doesn’t structure his work the same way, but the results are there. Every time.
The bickering shifts into something else when it begins to spread into their coursework. It’s almost an open rivalry now. They compete over test scores and Oscar always knows when Lando does better. Lando in return notices when Oscar finishes first. They sit next to each other in lectures without ever choosing to, close enough to see each other’s notes, close enough to compare.
One day, when they get back a pop quiz from their professor, Lando glances at Oscar’s paper.
“How many points?” He asks casually eyeing the paper sitting in front of his dorm mate.
“Ninety-three,” Oscar replies without looking up. Lando grins and flips his paper over.
Ninety-five. Oscar’s jaw tightens.
From that moment on, it’s war.
They argue over everything late into the night, voices low but sharp. Oscar stays up longer than intended just to prove a point. Lando starts taking his work more seriously than he ever has before. Oscar starts pushing himself harder than he knows is healthy.
And somewhere along the way, they start paying attention to things that don’t matter.
Lando notices Oscar’s pencil tapping when he’s stressed.
Oscar notices how Lando chews on his lip when he’s concentrating.
Neither says a word. After all, they don’t like each other. They’re sure of that. All they care about is to beat the other one.
***
The turning point comes when Oscar is staying in the library far too late. Again.
It’s already past midnight, most of the lights on the floor have gone dark, but Oscar barely notices. His laptop screen glows softly in the silence, equations scribbled across his notebook with increasing urgency. His pencil taps against the desk – fast and uneven.
He has to get this right.
The deadline is unforgiving. So is his scholarship. So, he rubs his eyes and keeps going.
By the time he finally packs up, it’s almost two in the morning. Outside, rain lashes against the tall library windows, blurring the world into streaks of grey. Oscar sighs, adjusts his backpack, and tells himself he’ll be careful.
The campus is quiet, slick with rain, stone paths shining under the lamplight. He’s tired, more exhausted than he wants to admit, his legs stiff from sitting too long.
He takes the stairs down toward the courtyard … and his foot slips on the wet stairs.
It happens too fast – one wrong step, a sharp gasp, the sudden, sickening loss of balance. Oscar reaches for the railing and misses. His body twists, pain exploding through his leg as he hits the stone steps hard.
He cries out despite himself. For a moment, he can’t breathe.
Rain soaks into his clothes as he lies there, stunned, pain radiating up his leg in blinding waves. When he tries to move, white-hot agony shoots through him and he hisses, gripping the edge of the step.
“Shit,” he whispers, voice shaking.
He’s stuck.
***
Lando had planned to have a quiet night. Since Oscar was down in the library – claiming that there would be no distractions – he had the room to himself and could do anything other than study for once. So, he had pulled out his Nintendo Switch to play some rounds of Mario Kart until he was yawning and locking at the clock.
2.13 AM
Lando’s gaze settled on the empty bed across the room. Where was Oscar?
Unease settles in his chest, heavy and irritating.
“Probably still studying.”, he thinks. “Idiot.”
Still – he grabs his hoodie, his phone and the keys to his room and heads out of the door before he can properly think about it.
The rain surprises Lando when he steps outside, the big drops cold and relentless. He curses under his breath, pulling his hood up and shoving his hands into his pockets as he heads toward the library.
And then he sees him.
Oscar is crumpled on the steps, soaked through, face pale and tight with pain. Lando’s heart drops straight into his stomach.
“Oscar!” He’s running before he even realizes it, skidding slightly on the wet stone as he drops to his knees beside his dorm mate. “Hey … hey, look at me. What happened?”
Oscar looks up at him, eyes glassy with shock.
“I don’t…” He swallows. “I slipped and fell. It hurts!”
Lando’s hands hover uselessly for a second before he steadies himself.
“Okay. Okay. It’s fine. I’ve got you.”
Oscar lets out a sharp breath when he tries to shift again, fingers digging into Lando’s sleeve. “My leg…”
“I know,” Lando says quickly, voice too loud, too fast. “Don’t move it. Don’t … just … stay with me, yeah?”
He pulls out his phone with shaking hands, already dialling for help, rain plastering his hair to his forehead. He keeps talking, words tumbling out in a rush.
“You’re such an idiot,” he says, voice cracking despite the scolding tone. “Half past two in the morning, in the rain … what were you thinking?”
Oscar manages a weak, breathless sound that might be a laugh. “You … came to get me.”
Lando freezes for half a second.
“Yeah,” he then says quietly, kneeling closer, shielding Oscar from the rain with his body. “Of course I did.”
The rivalry doesn’t matter anymore.
All that matters is that Oscar is hurt. And Lando is not letting him face it alone.
***
The hospital smells like antiseptic and stale coffee. Lando hates it immediately.
He sits stiffly in the plastic chair beside Oscar’s bed, hoodie damp and clinging uncomfortably to his skin. His knee bounces nonstop as he watches a nurse carefully adjust Oscar’s leg, now immobilized in a brace.
Oscar looks small like this. Pale. Even more quiet than usual.
“That’s going to hurt for a bit,” The nurse says gently, tightening the straps. “You’ve got a bad sprain and some ligament damage. No fractures, thankfully.”
Oscar exhales, relief and frustration mixing on his face. “How long?”
“Crutches for at least a few weeks. No unnecessary strain. And absolutely no stairs if you can avoid them.”
Lando’s stomach drops.
Their dorm is on the second floor. And there is no elevator.
The nurse gives them a polite smile and leaves, curtain swishing shut behind her. Silence settles in, thick and awkward.
Oscar stares at the ceiling. “This is inconvenient.”
Lando snorts despite himself. “That’s one way to put it.”
Oscar turns his head, finally looking at him properly. His eyes soften, just a fraction. “You didn’t have to come.”
Lando bristles. “Yes, I did.”
Oscar frowns. “I would’ve managed.”
“Mate,” Lando says, voice gentler now, “you were lying on stone steps in the rain, unable to move. That’s not managing.”
Oscar looks away again, jaw tight. “I don’t like being a problem.”
The words land heavier than Lando expects.
“You’re not,” he says immediately. Then, after a beat, quieter: “You’re just… hurt.”
Oscar doesn’t reply.
***
Getting Oscar back to the dorm is … a challenge.
The crutches are awkward, Oscar is stiff and clearly in pain, refusing help at first until Lando ignores him entirely and slings Oscar’s arm over his shoulder anyway.
“Lando,” Oscar protests weakly.
“Shut up,” Lando mutters, adjusting his grip. “Or I’m carrying you bridal-style and neither of us wants that.”
Oscar flushes. He goes quiet.
The stairs are exactly as bad as Lando imagined.
“Okay,” Lando says, stopping at the bottom and looking up. “New rule. I carry your bag. You lean on me. We take it slow.”
Oscar hesitates. Pride wars with pain on his face.
Finally, he nods.
Each step feels like a small victory. Oscar grips Lando’s hoodie like it’s the only thing keeping him upright, breath hitching now and then when the pain flares. Lando talks the entire way up. Nonsense, complaints, anything to keep Oscar distracted.
By the time they reach the room, Lando is sweating and Oscar is exhausted.
They collapse onto their respective beds in silence.
For the first time since they met, neither of them argues.
***
The next few days change everything.
Oscar hates the crutches. Hates moving slowly. Hates needing help even more. Unfortunately, the universe is cruel.
Lando becomes unavoidable.
He carries Oscar’s backpack to lectures.
He waits outside classrooms so Oscar doesn’t have to rush.
He holds doors open, offers an arm, pretends not to notice when Oscar leans into him just a little too much.
“You don’t have to do all this,” Oscar says one evening, watching Lando balance two cups of instant noodles he heated up in the small kitchenette down the hall.
“Yeah, I do,” Lando replies easily. “Doctor’s orders. Or, like… my orders.”
Oscar rolls his eyes, but he eats every bite of the food he’s offered.
Late at night, when Oscar’s leg aches too much for sleep, Lando sits on the edge of his bed, rambling softly about anything that comes to mind. About lectures. About stupid games. About nothing at all.
And Oscar listens.
***
Recovery is not linear, and Oscar struggles more than he lets on.
The pain fades unevenly, flaring at night and after long days, and the missed lectures begin to pile up. He grows quieter, more withdrawn, frustration settling deep beneath his careful composure. Lando notices before Oscar ever admits it. Notices the way his notes thin out. The way his planner fills with rescheduled deadlines. The way his jaw tightens whenever he stares too long at an unfinished problem.
Without comment, Lando adjusts.
He starts cooking more than instant noodles, hovering awkwardly in the kitchenette until something edible comes together. He carries Oscar’s bag even when the crutches are gone for short distances. He helps him with the coursework so Oscar can keep up with the material even when he missed some of the classes.
Oscar resists at first. Then less. Then not at all.
One night, well past midnight, the words finally slip through the cracks. Oscar admits how fragile everything feels – how quickly one bad semester could cost him everything he worked for. Another night, Lando admits he’s terrified of not being enough in a room full of people who seem born for brilliance. Neither of them looks at the other while it happens, but the understanding settles anyway.
After that, studying together stops feeling like a battlefield.
They fall into an easy rhythm. Shared notes. Quiet corrections. Long pauses where neither rushes to fill the space. Sometimes Lando catches himself watching Oscar think, catches the way concentration softens him. Sometimes Oscar looks up to find Lando already there, gaze warm and unreadable.
They start sharing snacks without asking. Start watching films on Lando’s laptop, sitting on opposite ends of the bed at first, then closer as nights pass. Once, they both fall asleep halfway through, waking hours later tangled in blankets and confusion, neither of them mentioning it the next morning.
Others notice. The lack of fighting. The way they move around each other like something delicate might break. Alex raises an eyebrow once when Lando mentions Oscar without the usual venom in his voice. George just smiles.
Oscar and Lando remain oblivious.
Or maybe they’re not oblivious at all – just careful. Their rivalry had softened into something warmer, heavier, harder to name.
Neither of them says anything.
But something has already changed.
And neither of them knows how to go back.
***
The final project of the semester is coming up and tension is rising once again. It’s worth too much. Counts for too many things neither of them can afford to lose. Oscar’s planner fills with different deadlines for different parts of the project, circled and underlined until the pages look bruised. Lando pretends not to notice, but the jokes come easier than the honesty.
They’re paired together again. Of course they are. Groups are assigned per semester.
At first, it works. Too well, almost. They sit shoulder to shoulder, trading notes, finishing each other’s thoughts. Lando stays up even later than usual. Oscar lets himself rely on him more than he should.
Then the pressure creeps in.
“This section needs rewriting,” Oscar says one night, tapping Lando’s screen. “The data’s fine, but the explanation isn’t clear enough.”
Lando frowns. “It got full marks last time.”
“That was a different assignment.”
“So?”
“So, this one matters more.”
Lando exhales slowly. “They all matter to you.”
Oscar’s jaw tightens. “They should matter to you too.”
They keep working, but the air has shifted.
A few nights later, Lando hands over his part of the assignment. Oscar checks it once. Twice. Then again.
“You recalculated this, right?” Oscar asks.
“Yes.”
“And you’re sure about the assumptions?”
“Yes, Oscar.”
Oscar doesn’t look convinced.
Lando leans back in his chair. “If you don’t trust me, just say that.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“It’s what you meant.”
Oscar finally looks at him. “I can’t afford mistakes.”
Something in Lando snaps. “Neither can I.”
The words hang between them, sharp and sudden.
***
The final fight happens past midnight, when exhaustion strips away whatever restraint they had left.
Oscar discovers a small inconsistency in the draft and reacts like they almost failed the entire class.
“This can’t be wrong,” he says, scrolling furiously. “We don’t have time to redo this.”
“It’s not wrong,” Lando insists. “It’s a formatting issue.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do.”
Oscar turns on him then, eyes bright with something close to panic. “You’re not taking this seriously.”
Lando laughs, short and bitter. “Are you joking?”
“You keep brushing things off like it doesn’t matter.”
“Because if I don’t, I’ll lose my mind!”
Oscar shakes his head. “That’s easy for you to say. You’re not one mistake away from losing everything.”
The words hit hard.
Lando goes still. “So that’s what this is about.”
“It’s about you not caring enough.”
“That’s not fair.”
“You joke, you procrastinate, you…”
“I show up,” Lando cuts in, voice rising. “Every time. I stayed up for you. I took on extra work. I’ve been here.”
“And yet you still don’t understand what’s at stake.”
Lando stares at him. “Or maybe you don’t understand that you don’t have to do this alone.”
Oscar scoffs. “I’ve always done it alone.”
“And look how that’s working out!” Lando snaps. “You won’t let anyone help unless you’re in control.”
Silence slams down between them.
Oscar’s voice is quiet when he speaks again. “You think I like being like this?”
Lando drags a hand through his hair. “I think you’re pushing me away.”
“That’s not what I’m doing.”
“It is,” Lando says, softer now. “You’re treating me like a liability.”
Oscar looks at him like that’s the cruellest thing he could’ve said. “That’s not true.”
“Then stop acting like I’m the problem.”
Oscar’s hands tremble as he reaches for his laptop and the crutches. “I can’t do this right now.”
Lando scoffs. “So, you’re running away?”
Oscar flinches. But he doesn’t respond.
The door closes behind him with a quiet, final click.
Lando doesn’t move.
He sits there, staring at the half-finished project, at Oscar’s empty chair, at the fairy lights casting too-soft shadows on the walls. His chest aches in a way he doesn’t know how to describe.
Across the hall, Oscar moves as fast as his leg allows, jaw tight, eyes burning.
For the first time since the accident, they are truly apart.
And it hurts worse than the rivalry ever did.
***
Oscar doesn’t go far. He can’t, his leg still hurts when he tries to do longer distances.
So, he ends up in an empty study room, the kind with flickering lights and chairs that never quite sit straight. His crutches lean uselessly against the wall as he stares at his laptop, jaw clenched, hands shaking just enough to make typing difficult.
He shouldn’t have left.
He knows that.
But staying would’ve meant breaking, and Oscar has never been allowed that luxury.
He opens the project file again. Scrolls. Adjusts. Saves.
Then the screen freezes.
“No,” Oscar whispers, eyes widening in horror.
He tries again. And again. The cursor refuses to move, the spinning wheel mocking him. His chest tightens as he forces the laptop to shut down, then restarts it with trembling fingers.
The file won’t open.
Oscar stares at the screen, breath shallow, pulse roaring in his ears. He checks the folder. The backups. Nothing recent. The last saved version is from days ago.
Too old.
Incomplete.
Useless.
His vision blurs.
He presses his hands flat against the desk, fighting for control, but the panic crashes through him anyway. This isn’t just a project. It’s his scholarship. His place here. The one thing he cannot afford to lose.
For the first time in a long time, Oscar feels completely alone.
***
Lando is still sitting in their room, staring at the same line of code for the tenth time, replaying the argument in his head like a bruise he can’t stop pressing. Guilt coils tight in his chest, heavy and sharp.
He shouldn’t have said that.
He should’ve gone after him.
His phone buzzes.
A notification from the shared project folder.
Error syncing files.
Lando frowns and opens his laptop, fingers moving on instinct. The folder loads … and half the files are missing.
“Oh, shit.”
He’s on his feet immediately, heart pounding as he grabs his room key and the USB stick from his desk drawer. He doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t stop to think.
He just runs.
***
Oscar barely hears the footsteps approaching.
He’s hunched over the desk, breathing unevenly, staring at a screen that refuses to fix itself.
“Oscar.”
He startles, head snapping up.
Lando stands in the doorway, hair a mess, chest rising and falling like he sprinted the entire way here.
“What happened?” Lando asks, already crossing the room.
Oscar swallows hard. “The file crashed.”
Lando freezes. “Crashed?”
“I…” Oscar’s voice breaks despite his best effort. He hates that most of all. “I think it corrupted. I don’t have the latest backup.”
The words hang there, devastating in their simplicity.
For a terrifying second, Lando says nothing.
Then he exhales and pulls the USB drive from his pocket.
“I do.”
Oscar blinks. “What?”
“I made copies,” Lando says quickly, kneeling beside the desk. “I told you, you don’t have to do this alone. I backed everything up. Twice.”
Oscar stares at him like he doesn’t quite understand.
“You… what?”
“I wasn’t letting you fall again,” Lando says quietly. “Not this time.”
Something in Oscar finally gives way.
His shoulders slump, the fight draining out of him all at once. He presses a hand over his eyes, breathing in sharply as emotion rushes up, hot and overwhelming.
“I thought I’d ruined everything,” he admits hoarsely. “I thought I was alone.”
Lando steps closer, hesitating only a second before sitting next to him on one of the wobbly chairs.
“You’re not,” he says. “You haven’t been for a while.”
Oscar lets his hand drop. His eyes are red, unguarded in a way Lando has never seen before.
“I’m sorry,” Oscar says. “For what I said. For pushing you away. I was scared.”
“I know,” Lando replies softly. “I was scared too.”
They sit there for a moment, knees almost touching, the space between them suddenly fragile and charged.
Oscar looks at the USB drive. Then at Lando.
“You really did all that for me?”
Lando shrugs, but his voice is steady. “For us.”
The word settles between them, warm and terrifying and right.
Oscar’s fingers curl into the fabric of Lando’s sleeve. Not pulling away this time.
Neither of them pretends it doesn’t mean something. Not anymore.
***
The lecture hall feels too bright.
Lando stands at the front beside Oscar, fingers curled loosely around the presentation clicker, leg bouncing just enough to betray his nerves. The room is full – professors, students, evaluators – all of them watching with polite expectation.
Oscar clears his throat and leans in slightly.
“You ready?” he murmurs.
Lando glances at him. Oscar looks calm. Focused. Steady in a way that used to drive him insane and now just… grounds him.
“Yeah,” Lando says. Then, quieter, “You?”
Oscar nods. “We’ve got this.”
We.
The presentation starts.
It flows.
Better than flows – it excells.
Oscar explains the theory with crisp precision, voice even, confidence unmistakable. Lando picks it up seamlessly, translating complexity into clarity, gesturing easily, engaging the room. They move between slides without thinking, passing control back and forth like they’ve been doing it forever.
When questions come, Oscar handles the technical details. Lando fields the broader ones, smiling, deflecting, clarifying. At one point, a professor challenges a key assumption.
Lando hesitates – and Oscar steps in immediately, voice firm.
Then Lando builds on it, finishing the thought Oscar started.
The professor smiles.
By the time they finish, the room is quiet for a heartbeat.
Then applause.
Not polite. Real.
Lando exhales hard, a grin breaking across his face as he turns toward Oscar.
Oscar’s eyes are bright, relief and something like pride flickering there.
They didn’t just survive it.
They nailed it.
***
The air outside feels colder, cleaner.
Lando laughs as soon as the doors close behind them, adrenaline still buzzing through his veins.
“Oh my god,” he says. “Did you see his face when you corrected him?”
Oscar huffs a small laugh. “You weren’t supposed to enjoy that.”
“I absolutely was.”
They walk back toward the dorm together, shoulders brushing now and then, neither bothering to move away. The campus is quieter than usual, late afternoon light stretching long shadows across the stone paths.
“I’m glad we did it together,” Oscar says after a moment. “Like this.”
Lando glances at him. “Yeah. Me too.”
They climb the stairs slowly – habit more than necessity now – and step into their room.
It looks different.
Not because anything changed decoration wise, but because they did.
Lando drops his bag onto his chair and flops back onto his bed, staring up at the fairy lights.
“We should celebrate,” he says. “Or sleep for a week. Or both.”
Oscar sets his laptop down carefully. He doesn’t sit right away.
“You know,” he says, thoughtful, “at the beginning of the year, I thought this room was going to be unbearable.”
Lando snorts. “You mean because I’m unbearable.”
“Yes,” Oscar says dryly. Then softer, “But also because I didn’t plan on… this.”
Lando turns his head to look at him. “This?”
Oscar gestures vaguely between them, then lets his hand fall. “Depending on someone. Trusting them.”
Lando sits up.
“Oh.”
Oscar meets his gaze, something nervous and real in his expression.
“I don’t like not being in control,” he admits. “But with you, it doesn’t feel like losing it.”
There’s a long pause.
Lando’s heart is suddenly loud in his chest.
“Oh,” he says again. Slower this time. “Oh.”
The room suddenly feels very small. Smaller than usual.
Oscar swallows. “I didn’t mean to make things complicated.”
“You didn’t,” Lando says quickly. “I mean … maybe you did. But in a … good way?”
Oscar’s mouth twitches despite himself. “That’s not very reassuring.”
Lando stands, closing the distance between them. Not touching. Just close enough that he can feel Oscar’s warmth.
“I think,” Lando says carefully, “somewhere between hating you and carrying you up the stairs, I stopped pretending I didn’t care.”
Oscar exhales, shakily. “I stopped pretending when you backed up my files.”
They’re both smiling now, small and disbelieving.
“So,” Lando says, voice barely above a whisper, “what do we do with that?”
Oscar hesitates. Then reaches out, fingers brushing Lando’s wrist.
“We don’t run from it.”
The touch sends something electric through him.
Lando laughs softly, breathless. “Yeah. Okay. That sounds … manageable.”
Oscar laughs at the hidden joke his thumb draws small circles, gently, grounding. “We can be managing together.”
For a moment, they just look at each other.
And then Lando leans in.
Not rushing. Not demanding.
Oscar meets him halfway.
It’s not dramatic. Not desperate.
Just warm. Careful. Real.
When they pull back, Lando rests his forehead against Oscar’s.
“So,” he murmurs, smiling, “guess we didn’t kill each other.”
Oscar huffs a quiet laugh. “Statistically impressive.”
They stay like that, fairy lights glowing softly above them, the year finally making sense.
***
Epilogue – A Few Months Later
The dorm room feels… alive. Warm light spills from the fairy lights above, illuminating books stacked haphazardly on desks and half-finished mugs of coffee. The space is a little messy, a little lived-in, but entirely theirs.
Lando lounges on his bed, laptop balanced on his knees, fingers flying over the keyboard. He’s laughing at some ridiculous clip, eyes sparkling. Oscar sits cross-legged on the floor, leaning against the bedframe, reading lecture notes, but every so often he looks up, eyes soft, watching Lando with quiet amusement.
“You’re impossible,” Oscar says finally, voice calm but edged with affection.
“I prefer ‘charming,’” Lando replies without looking up.
Oscar smirks, shaking his head, but the faint flush in his cheeks betrays him. “Charming and ridiculous.”
Lando grins and tosses his laptop aside. “Well. I’ll accept that.”
They move around the room in practiced familiarity. They cook dinner together, arguing over whose turn it is to wash the dishes, laughing when the pasta sticks to the pan. The tension that used to crackle between them has softened into something warm, steady, intimate.
Later, they settle back on Lando’s bed, legs tangled under a shared blanket, mugs of cocoa warming their hands. The room is quiet except for the soft hum of the city outside and the occasional flicker of the fairy lights above.
“I still can’t believe we made it through a whole year without killing each other,” Lando murmurs, leaning back against the pillows.
Oscar chuckles softly, reaching for Lando’s hand and holding it gently. “We’ve… done more than survive,” he says. “We’ve actually… figured each other out.”
Lando turns his head, eyes meeting Oscar’s. The soft glow of the lights makes everything feel slower, more deliberate. “Figured each other out?” he repeats, teasing but tender.
Oscar shrugs, a small, shy smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. And… I like this. Us.”
Something in Lando stirs. He leans in slowly, just enough to brush their foreheads together, close but cautious. “I like this too. Us,” he whispers, voice low, full of something he hasn’t quite put into words yet.
The pause stretches until Oscar tilts his head slightly, and Lando closes the final distance. Their lips meet softly, gently, a kiss that says everything they’ve been too stubborn to put into words. Slow, tentative at first, and then more certain, hands finding each other as if they’ve been waiting for this moment for months.
When they finally pull back, breath mingling, Oscar rests his forehead against Lando’s. “So,” he murmurs, voice teasing again, “does this mean I’m no longer Oscar ‘Boring’ Piastri?”
Lando groans. “I should have never told you that.” He whispers but then he laughs, soft and warm, shaking his head.
“Not boring,” he says, voice quiet, “just … perfect for me.”
Oscar hums, satisfied and intertwines his fingers with Lando’s.
They settle back against the pillows, fingers still intertwined, hearts still racing, smiling at the quiet joy of simply being together. No games, no rivalry, no pretence. Just them — finally, undeniably, together.
And the world outside, with its deadlines, lectures, and chaos, can wait.