Archive of Our Own ^beta

i.

He doesn’t remember how it all started.

The years are a blur in his mind, a succession of events he stopped caring for a long time ago. It’s all the same to him. Nights and nights of music and drinks and laughter and cheers on repeat until they bleed into one another, leaving him a shell of what he once was. He doesn’t remember how it started, but it has been going on for a long time and he’s tired. Bone-deep tired. 

When he wakes up, he hears the music coming from somewhere far away, a steady beating matching his pulse. He doesn’t let himself despair once the last remnants of sleep wears off and it dawns on him that the cycle has started again.

He’s done it all before, the anguish, the raw pain that comes with the realisation that this is it. That’s all there is. There’s nothing else but this, an endless repetition of nights where he’s nothing more than a passing shadow, invisible to everyone else as he watches the people around him celebrate the coming of a new year, three hundred and five days to live and laugh and love when his own life is reduced to one night. 

It seems to him he went through every passing emotion at some point before, denial, anger and a deep, profound sadness that never really disappeared. As the years went by, it all quieted down to become a dull ache in his chest, subdued but ever so present, hidden under the weight of resignation. If one day, he’d entertained the thought that there was more to this, he’d long since learned that disillusions only resulted in pain. Might as well spare what was left of his heart. 

The music is pulsing through his body, the bass a loud thumping in his temples. He’s been doing this for a long, long time, enough to have seen the world change quietly. Sometimes he stumbles upon orchestras playing, costumes and quiet applause. Sometimes he’s in the heart of a city, surrounded by a cheering crowd as artists perform on stage. No matter the setting, it’s always some kind of party.

He looks around him, not bothering to look for clues about the date. He wakes up in a different place every year, a different house, but always on the same night, New Year's Eve. Who knows where he goes when he’s not here. He might be dreaming with his body stored away somewhere, he might disappear completely. He doesn’t know, but it feels like an entire year went by every time he opens his eyes. How weird it is, to feel the weight of a year you didn’t get to live.

At least the room is empty. He once woke up to the sound of a bed creaking and badly muffled moans. No one ever feels his presence, but the situation was enough to make him embarrassed for several minutes after.

Today, he’s not in a bedroom, but in what looks like to be a walk-in closet, and a big one at that. He’s surrounded by dresses and coats and shoes and mirrors. Rich people, then. A look at himself is confirmation enough. He’s dressed in dapper clothes, white shirt, black pants and vest, black bow tie. He runs a hand through his hair. At least it falls in an elegant swoop on his forehead, and doesn’t seem too messed up from sleep. Not that anyone else will notice his appearance : he’s always dressed to match the party, but walks among the crowd unnoticed. 

He supposed it’s part of the curse. He’s just a witness to other people’s stories, a quiet observer of life going on without him. He hasn’t aged a day since all of this started. He wakes up with the same face and the same body every time. Maybe he should be glad that this is only a night. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have entire days and years on the margins of everyone else’s existence. 

He only has a night, so he better makes the most of it. It won’t be different from any other one, but this is all he gets. And so Oscar adjusts his costume, braces himself for what’s to come and steps out of the room. 

………………

The party is in full bloom when he steps into a gigantic hall. He doesn’t know the specifics of his curse, how the hours that he’s allowed are calculated, so he doesn’t bother looking at someone’s abandoned phone to check the time. He’s not sure he cares about it. It wouldn’t change anything anyway. 

At first he went through every possibility, tried everything to stop this. Wrote lines and lines of times and dates to pinpoint a pattern. He could only rely on his memory — no physical token could be kept from one time to another. No earthly possessions to keep him company on his lonely journey.

Back when he still had hope that he could find a loophole and get himself out of here, he ran miles in the cold to get as far away from where he’d been materialized, to no avail. He wakes up, haunts a random party, and then he vanishes for an entire year. That’s all there is to it. He can run away as far as he likes and it’ll never be far enough. He’ll always disappear at the end of the night.

He’s thought a lot about why New Year. Is it an ironic coincidence ? A joke from the Heavens above, from whoever condemned him to this ? He doesn’t remember who he was before, or what he did to deserve such a punishment. 

Maybe he struck a deal with a devil. Maybe he angered a powerful witch. He doesn’t know what warranted this eternal torture, but he will give it to them, the idea was genius. A ghost in a never-ending party for the quiet boy who always preferred to stay on the sidelines. Fitting, truly. 

He grabs a drink on a nearby table, starts taking in his surroundings. This is a house, and definitely a rich person’s one at that. The crowd is mostly contained to this one room, with high ceilings and large windows opening up to a view of some sea, but he passed by other people on his way here, snuggling in corners and stairs, faces he didn’t bother to look at. Everyone is dressed in nice clothes, with expensive jewellery and designer shoes. It’s fun to think he fits in even when there is no one to see. He could be in jeans and tee shirts that it wouldn’t change a thing ; another detail that’s probably funny for whoever is responsible for this. 

He could waste away his time in one of the rooms upstairs, hoping no too eagerly couple find their way to him, but for some reason he always chases the very heart of the party, the room where the music is the loudest. He doesn’t know if it’s a way to lose himself or to hang on to the little bit of free will he’s allowed to keep, a silent defiance. 

Either way, he leans against a wall and watches as the people around him dance and laugh and drink without a glance in his direction. He winces a bit as he gulps down the liquid in his cup, closes his eyes as the strong taste of vodka burns his throat. 

He could use some air.

He disposes of his cup somewhere on his left and goes to the balcony. More than a balcony, it’s a stone terrace, overlooking a pool below and then a whole city, with the sea stretching as far as his eyes can see. A town perched on cliffs with such a pretty view is not so bad for entering a new year. For the people who get to see one.

It’s freezing cold. Northern hemisphere it is then. A few other party-goers are outside smoking, indifferent to him, because why wouldn’t they be? Oscar has done this too many times to try to reach out. He knows too well he could as well be screaming into their faces and it wouldn’t make a difference. He leans on the railing, takes in the view.

He’d like the sea, he thinks. If he had to choose a place to live. He doesn’t dream, but he gets the same weird nostalgia looking at the sea that you do when you wake up and find out your dream wasn’t real. 

“Not enjoying the party?”

The whole world comes to a halt. 

The voice is too close to be anything but directed at him. His heart does something funny before he actually turns around, meeting two blue green eyes framed by long eyelashes. The newcomer is dressed in a white shirt that’s halfway unbuttoned, holding a drink that he sips nonchalantly. He has nice hair, brown and curly. 

Oscar opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. His whole body is tense with hope and possibility, something he doesn’t want to let himself believe. A maybe. There’s no one that could be close enough to be talked to except him. But this isn’t possible. 

“Are you okay, mate?”

Oscar is too shocked to act, has forgotten what it feels like to be known. His next sentence escapes his lips before he can stop it, before it registers how fucking weird it sounds.

“You can see me?”

The boy laughs. “I know I’ve had a few, but not to the point where I start to hallucinate people, hopefully.”

Oscar looks left and right, but no one is paying attention to them. He doesn’t dare allow himself to hope for more. Not when he’s been alone for decades. If this is some sort of cruel joke orchestrated by the forces above to play with him… 

“So, are you okay or not? I can get you a glass of water or something,” the boy insists, eyebrows raised. “Maybe eat a bit. Good to counter the alcohol and all that.”

“I’m… I’m fine. I’m fine.” He’s not, but for entirely different reasons.  

The other doesn’t seem entirely convinced. “Fresh air should do you good. D’you want to sit down a bit maybe?”

Oscar nods, not trusting himself to speak, and sinks down way too easily against the railing. The other joins him, sitting at a respectable distance. He looks actually concerned now. “I think you’re having a panic attack, mate.”

And Oscar wants to protest, because he’s not, but his throat is tight and next thing he knows he’s breathing a bit too loudly, head feeling light, and there’s black dots at the edge of his vision and his heart is not working correctly. He barely registers a hand rubbing circles on his back as he tries to anchor himself to something, anything to stop himself from spiralling. He should focus on an element around him, something tangible. He knows he should. And yet he can’t find anything, and he can only feel it get worse, the weight on his chest crushing him.

He sees the crowd, but it’s the furthest thing away from grounding. Their disinterested faces are a reminder that no matter what he does, he’s alone, and he could drown in front of them, run out of air in front of them and they still wouldn’t glance at him and it only makes him panic more. It feels like he’ll never breathe normally again.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s gonna be okay,” comes a voice on his right, and he’d forgotten about the boy. The man. He seems to be roughly Oscar’s age.

“I’m sorry,” he manages to say. “The party…”

“No, no, it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s fine. God, I can never remember how it goes. Try to name things you can see? Smell? Touch? Fuck, this is probably too much information.” 

Oscar tries, but it feels like nothing works. He can only feel the boy’s hand on his back, until it stops and a new wave of panic hits him before he feels a pressure on his hands. The boy is holding them. He can touch Oscar. He can see him. This is not his mind making it up. Right? 

“I need you to tell me I’m real,” he lets out, cheeks flaming in white hot shame, because he sounds fucking pathetic.

But the boy squeezes his hands, not mocking him. Oscar must look as bad as he feels if he’s taking this seriously. Or he’s high as hell. Or he pretends because he’s afraid he’ll start acting crazy. “You’re very real. And I’m real too.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

Oscar doesn’t answer immediately, and the boy doesn’t let go of him. Even when the panic finally ebbs back. He breathes slowly, inhales until he feels like his lungs cannot hold anymore. “Thank you,” he finally murmurs when he’s positive it has completely passed. 

“No worries. You didn’t seem well.”

They sit in silence for a few seconds, Oscar’s breath slowly returning to normal. They’re still holding hands.

“My name’s Lando, by the way,” the boy offers.

Oscar closes his eyes as he tilts his head back until it rests on the railing. “Oscar.”

“I’m not going to ask what got you in such a state, Oscar, but I hope it’s nothing too serious.”

Just a curse where I get to live only one night a year and nobody ever sees me.

“I think it got a bit too hot in here,” he answers instead. “I don’t do well in crowds.”

That, at least, is not a complete lie. 

“So your plan for New Year was the biggest party you could find?”

Oscar lets out a small laugh, folding on himself, and it feels so freeing. Being there, talking to someone, laughing at someone’s joke. If this is a dream, then he’s going to enjoy it as long as it lasts. “You’re right, not my best call. I’ll do better next year.” 

Lando is looking at him a bit starstruck, and then seems to get a hold of himself. 

“Sorry mate, but it can’t get better than this, because I’m here.”

“Sure, how would I survive without you, a guy I’ve known for five minutes?”

Lando opens his mouth in mock disbelief. “If you think you’re done with me, you’re gravely mistaken. I hope you enjoyed your free time, because I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.”

Good. Please don’t. “I think you’ll get bored quickly.”

“I don’t think so.”

“We’ll see.”

“Yeah we’ll see!”

Oscar lets him have the last word, chuckling fondly. They fall in a comfortable silence for a few seconds, Lando drinking pensively.

“So are you gonna tell me why it’s so surprising that I can see you?” 

He says it in a playful tone, and when Oscar looks at him, he sees an easy smile on his face. He’s expecting Oscar to play along, entertain him with a story. He may have helped him through his panic attack, but Oscar doubts he’ll be so supportive if he explains the truth. 

The thought brings him down a little bit. Because this is just another part of the curse, after all. For once he can be seen, and yet at the end of the night his fate will stay the same. Worse, he cannot even explain it without sounding crazy. This boy — Lando — is just here to give him a taste of what he can’t have, in a cruel joke of fate. Oscar wants to scream. After years of living alone, he’ll never be able to keep going now that he knows what it feels like to have someone be here for him. 

He plays along anyway. 

“You wouldn’t believe me if I did,” he says with a deadpan look. 

Lando’s eyebrows shoot up, a delighted expression blossoming on his face. He’s so expressive, it’s almost comical to watch. He’s also so damn cute Oscar feels his heart beat faster when he looks at him. But that might also be because of the sudden attention.

“Try me. Also, do you want to go inside? It’s fucking cold out here.”

Oscar follows him, still a bit dazed. The crowd is dense, and he holds onto Lando’s hand to get across the dance floor without losing him. He half expects someone to look at him in annoyance when he bumps into them, but he’s as invisible as usual. Lando is really, for some reason, the only exception. 

Briefly, he wonders if this was always going to be the way, if it had been intended from the beginning by whoever had chosen this life for him. He wonders if he only gets to have one night, or if he’s allowed more. He wonders why Lando. More than anything, he wonders if there were other people like him and if he’s missed them every time. 

“Do you dance?” 

They stopped at the edge of the crowd, and Lando let go of his hand to grab two beers on a nearby table. The question surprises Oscar, but he’s glad he’s dropped the other matter. He gratefully accepts the beer.

“Not really.”

Lando whines. “And here I thought you were fun.”

Oscar raises his eyebrows. “I have no idea how you got that impression.”

“C’mon, dance with me!”

Oscar is not nearly as drunk as he should be for this, but his body is buzzing pleasantly now that he’s back in a warm atmosphere, and he’s a bit lightheaded from the vodka earlier and the rush of adrenalin he gets from Lando perceiving him. Maybe it’s why he ends up indulging him anyway.

It’s not his scene ; it never has been. He’s too self-conscious to dance in a carefree manner, even when he knows no one can see him, and overthinking every one of his movements makes him look even more stiff. He drinks from his beer hoping that it’ll help a bit.

It’s easy to get lost in it. The music is so loud it blurs everything else, his senses dulled along with his embarrassment. 

He loses track of time after that. Alcohol does help him loosen up a bit, and Lando takes up all of his attention anyway. He seems so at ease right here dancing in the middle of a crowd, the perfect opposite of Oscar. Easy smile, relaxed body. Oscar feels strung like a high tension wire. His brain cannot seem to disconnect the way it does for others, no matter how many beers he downs. 

Oscar is the kind of drunk who keeps thinking, even if it’s in scattered bits. The world turns around him, and his thoughts are fleeting pieces of awareness gone and replaced and gone and replaced. 

Is that all there is to it and will he ever get to live a normal life and would Lando kiss him right there and then and would he let him do it and if this wasn’t his life would something happen and is he just latching onto Lando to fight back the immense depth of loneliness he seems to be an endless well of and that is not fair and he really needs to stop thinking so much. 

At some point, he removes his bowtie and vest, puts them on a chair and forgets about them entirely.

They dance, and they talk in between, meaningless sentences he can’t hear or forgets about the next second, giggles and shared smiles. Lando gets more and more tactile the more alcohol he gets in his system, casually stroking his arm, leaning against him. Oscar feels like his skin is on fire everywhere they touch. 

It’s all so easy that Oscar can finally forget, for the first time in his life, that his time is running out. 

………………

When the music stops, there’s only a few complaints before someone screams that it’s almost midnight and is met with applause. Some guy apparently took it upon himself to be the official announcer of the time left before New Year’s, standing up on the buffet very drunkenly. 

“This idiot, he’s going to fall,” mutters Lando, but it’s impossibly fond. It must be one of his friends. Oscar feels guilty to keep him away from them when they should celebrate this together. 

The guy in question shows his phone open on a clock as he loudly counts down the numbers to midnight. Everyone claps and shouts in unison, and Oscar thinks what the hell and joins them too. His cheeks hurt from smiling. 

When they get to one, the whole room erupts in cheers. Lando looks at Oscar, grinning, and Oscar thinks it’s the first time he hasn’t felt despair in a long, long time.

“You know, I’d really like to see you again. Maybe we could meet sometime soon?” Lando shouts in his ear to cover the noise. 

And oh, how Oscar craves this kind of normalcy. Meeting someone at a party, hitting it off, seeing each other again. All those things he’s been denied for so long.

“I’d love to,” he says, knowing painfully that there won’t be another time.

Lando grins, eyes crinkling and all. It brightens up the whole goddamn room. “Mint.”

Oscar smiles back and it breaks his heart. 

………………

Later, when Lando wants to introduce him to his friends, Oscar excuses himself and doesn’t come out until half an hour has passed, pretending he feels bad because of the alcohol. It’s almost the end of the night for him. He can feel the telltale sign of his body tingling, his eyelids feeling heavy. It’s so unfair he wants to cry. It gnaws at him, the want for more time. The desperate, aching desire to have more. You think you reach the end of it at some point, but the heart is a greedy fool. 

He’ll have to find a room to lie down and wait until his body ceases to function, but he wants to say goodbye to Lando first. 

He finds him away from the scattered crowd, animatedly talking to two girls in blue and yellow silk dresses in a corner of the room. He’s not sure how to approach him. What would happen if the others saw him talking to the void? How does it work for the others?

He doesn’t have to think long. Lando spots him and immediately gets up, apologizing to the girls and coming to meet him. He’s got a thousand-watt smile on his face. 

“Oscaaaar!” In his accent, the final r is barely audible. “Where were you, I was looking for you and…”

Oscar stops him, throwing glances left and right to make sure no one’s looking at them. Everyone else is busy, too drunk or too high or too asleep to pay attention. The music is still playing, so no one will hear him talking alone. Even if he’s so drunk it could pass for normal. 

Lando holds onto him like a lifeline, like he’s scared Oscar is going to leave again. He knows it’s the alcohol talking, making him so clingy. It’s even worse now that he’s properly wasted. Oscar wants to give in and let himself be held. He doesn’t. 

“I’m sorry, I have to go.”

His heart constricts at the thought of disappearing, and he grabs Lando’s arm, aching to convey at least one of the many feelings overcoming him right now. 

“If we don’t see each other again. Thank you for earlier. It meant a lot.” 

A lot more than you could ever understand. 

“Well, ‘course, but…” starts Lando, and Oscar shuts him up by quickly pressing their lips together, gathering every bit of courage he can find. It’s barely a kiss, more like a goodbye. An apology. “Thank you,” Oscar whispers so low he’s not sure Lando even hears him.

He takes one last look at him, messed up brown curls and red cheeks from the heat of the room and the alcohol, white shirt clinging to his skin with sweat. Confused blue green eyes. The boy who broke the curse for one night. The boy who ended Oscar’s life of loneliness for a brief, unforgettable moment. 

He runs to an empty room as soon as he can, feeling his body already giving up on him. When he closes his eyes, for the first time, the end of the night comes to him in regret instead of relief.

………………

ii.

When he wakes up the next time, Lando feels so far away, like a dream you start to forget as sleep wears off. The memory is blurry around the edges, and yet it’s the first thing that comes to his mind when he wakes up. It was last night. It was a year ago. An eternity has passed in between ; and yet no time at all. 

It’s always a weird feeling, having to reconcile waking up after what feels like a long nap with the knowledge that it’s been an entire year. Lando has probably forgotten about the guy he spent his New Year with, when the only noticeable element was him having a panic attack in front of him. Despite it all, Oscar wonders if he’ll live in his memory for a bit. The thought of being remembered by at least one person brings him a little comfort. 

It’s another year. Another night. Another party. Oscar has been tired for a long time, but it hurts even more now, because he knows what it feels like to have someone by his side and he’s not sure he’ll never get to experience it again. 

He looks around him. He’s wearing a white shirt again, paired with blue jeans. A more casual outfit then. The room around him isn’t the same as before. A bedroom, but not the same as last time. Of course it’s not ; he hasn’t awoken in the same place twice in his life. He stupidly hoped Lando had changed something for him. That he’d thrown the curse off its axis. 

A dumb idea. Oscar hasn’t let himself feel hope for a long time, and he remembers why now : it’s because the fall hurts even more. 

He stands up to do what he always does, because he doesn’t have anything else. That’s all there is.

……………… 

The house is smaller, but not less packed with people. He makes his way through, scanning the crowd for a familiar face, tan skin and a stupidly endearing grin. He’s not here. Of course he’s not. 

Oscar is usually not one for getting drunk until he forgets his own name, but he doesn’t think he can stay sober for this one. He leans against a wall, a red cup in his hand. 

Maybe he should have tried harder to stay awake. Maybe the curse has a way of getting around that he hasn’t tried yet. Maybe Lando seeing him was the sign that it’s slowly receding. Do curses usually end on their own? Do they die with the person who casted them? He’s been doing this for so long that if that’s the case, then the person must be fucking immortal.

He closes his eyes, downs his cup, welcoming the burn spreading in his throat and lungs. He can do it. He’s done it again and again and again. He wishes he could dissociate from his own body. He hopes he gets there before the alcohol makes him throw up.

Until a voice breaks the wall of thoughts he’s retreated behind.

“Oscar?”

The voice is small, barely hopeful, as if the owner wasn’t sure he could let himself believe. Oscar turns his head so fast he gives himself whiplash, heart beating furiously in his chest.

There, standing in front of him, is Lando, just as he remembers him. His shirt is a deep red this time, he notices. He doesn’t have the same watch, but he still has the same blue green eyes. He raises a hand, tentative, hesitant, and Oscar doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t think he’s breathed in the last thirty seconds.

“Are you real?”, he finally asks, not daring to move a muscle in case it breaks the spell. 

“Am I— Are you?” 

He thinks it’s hurt he recognizes flickering on Lando’s face. A defensive, guarded stare. He’s not sure how to answer. He settles for the truth. He thinks he’s had enough of pretending. 

“I don’t even know myself.” 

Lando exhales shakily. “Well, I’m real.” He extends his hand, and Oscar takes it. “You seem real to me too.”

Oscar suddenly feels like crying. Lando shakes his head like he can’t believe it. He squeezes his hand to make sure he’s really here.

“I was so sure I would never see you again.”

“Yeah. Me too.” 

“Oscar, you disappeared on me last year when I thought we… I asked everyone. Nobody knew you. Nobody had even seen you. Not one person knew an Oscar, and they couldn’t remember me being with someone all evening. It was like you were never there at all.”

He can picture it so clearly. Lando coming after him, finding the room empty. Asking about him. Never hearing of Oscar again, after he’d told him he wanted to see him again. Oscar gone and someone missing him. It feels surreal, almost as much as finding Lando again.

“You remember me.” He doesn’t mean for it to do so, but it sounds like a question. 

“Of course I remember you, it’s not about—”

“You can see me.” He repeats it because he needs it to be out in the open. Irrefutable. 

“Yeah, well. I didn’t think you meant it literally when you first said that to me,” he laughs without humour. “Oscar, what’s going on? What does all of this mean?”

He found him again. Despite all laws, despite every odds. He found him again. Oscar holds onto Lando’s hand to ground himself into this reality and make sure he’s not just dreaming of him again. A whole year has passed, and Lando remembers him. For the first time in Oscar’s life, someone knows who he is.

“I can explain, but I’m not sure you’ll believe me.”

“Until two minutes ago, I thought you were someone I completely invented and that I had become crazy that night. Whatever you’re going to say, it can’t be worse than that.”

………………

When Oscar is done explaining, there’s a few moments of silence during which Lando stares at the ceiling, no visible emotion on his face. They sit in a free room away from the noise to have peace, and he’s told him everything. This time none of them are drinking. Oscar is nervous he’ll scare him away. But Lando only shakes his head in disbelief, doesn’t seem like he’s going to run away suddenly.

“So all these years, you’ve only had that one night? For how long?”

“I don’t remember. But it’s been more than ten. More than twenty. I don’t know exactly, I’ve lost count.”

“You crash a party, and no one sees you. And you’ve been cursed to live like this forever.”

“That’s the gist.”

Lando turns to look at him, visibly conflicted. He’s been jittery for the whole explanation, playing with the hem of his jeans, biting his lips, changing positions every two seconds.

“And you’ve been doing this alone?”

“Until you, yeah.”

“What’s so special about me?” 

“I don’t know. I already thought last year was a miracle. But waking up and you being there again… I think it’s a sign. The curse is shifting. And you’re the key.”

Lando opens his mouth, closes it. “I don’t have anything special.”

“But you do. You can see me. Even if there’s no reason for it, you do. And you have to know it’s more precious to me than anything, Lando.”

His earnest tone seems to settle Lando a bit. He straightens himself up, puts his hand under his thighs to stop rubbing them nervously.

“Let’s say that I have some magical power or whatever. What happens now? Can I make you stay?”

Oscar shakes his head. “I’m as lost as you. This is unprecedented. I guess we have to find similarities between those nights, draw a pattern, analyse it. Where were we last year?”

“A friend of mine. Olivia’s."

“And where are we today?”

“At another one of my friends’. Max.”

“Is it the same city?”

Lando shakes his head. “It’s not even the same country.” Oscar tries connecting the two, asks about the other guests, the music, the size of the house. Other than common friends, the only noticeable similarity is Lando.

“I don’t think we go about this the right way,” Oscar sighs dejectedly. “I don’t know. I’m tired of thinking.”

They stay in silence for a little while. It’s not even midnight yet, and still Oscar dreads the moment he’ll be leaving again. He just has Lando, but Lando has plenty more people waiting for him when Oscar vanishes into the void. Friends that Oscar is keeping him away from. An entire life for him out there. Why would he wait for someone he can only see once a year? It’s an ungodly amount of time. Fate forced them together. But they’re not anything. Just two guys paired together by a mysterious chain of circumstances.

He’s about to open his mouth to apologize and tell Lando that it’s okay, he’ll figure it out, he should join the others and have fun when Lando beats him to it.

“Why don’t we talk about something else then?”

“What?”

“You said you were tired of thinking. I say let’s talk about something else then.”

Oh. Oscar swallows back his words.

“I’m not sure I’m the most interesting person to talk to. Only ever lived one night in my life, remember? Never made friends, never traveled. Or when I did, I couldn’t visit much. I’ve been by myself for years.” 

“You can’t call yourself boring when you’ve been to so many parties! Even if you couldn’t speak to them, you still saw people. You’ve probably been to a million places, listened to juicy conversations. Come on, I’m sure you have stories. And if you don’t, I have plenty to keep us occupied.”

He smiles encouragingly. Oscar mulls it over.

“Alright.”

He starts recollecting. At first he hesitates a lot, trying to remember details to render them accurately, pausing a bit too much in between sentences. And Lando may be fidgeting next to him, tugging at his bracelets, rocking gently on his seat but he listens. Oscar doesn’t think he’s talked that much for a very long time. He’s not used to it. 

The more he talks, the more he remembers. He tells Lando of conversations he heard, lives of people he knows nothing about, every interesting night that comes to his mind. It’s then that he realizes that he’s seen a lot. Many countries, many celebrations, many people. He never saw it as a good thing before. Sometimes Lando interjects, adds an insightful comment, or just laughs. Before he knows it it’s a proper, full on conversation. They fall easily into a rhythm, bouncing off each other. It’s terrifyingly easy to be with him. 

It’s only when they hear a commotion outside that they stop. “Shit, midnight,” realizes Lando, standing up immediately. “We should go.”

Oscar wishes they wouldn’t. He knows it’s unfair : he’s seen more New Years’ than most people, and it’s become a chore more than a celebration for him, but it doesn’t mean others don’t get to enjoy it. 

He follows Lando in the living-room, watches him quietly as his friends ask where he’s been and how he is, teasing him and asking who he was with with laughs that leave little to the imagination about what they thought he was doing. Not for the first time, it strikes him how effortless it seems for Lando to take the spotlight. Everyone orbits around him, and he becomes the center of attraction.

Oscar is glad he gets to witness a part of him that feels more reserved and less like putting on a show. Not that he’s not himself around his friends — he’s so close to them Oscar feels a bit jealous — but being around a crowd seems to get a new ease out of him, one that’s different from the person he is when it’s only the two of them.

They didn’t talk about the kiss, he thinks as the clock strikes midnight and the room erupts in cheers, couples making out with each other all around him. Maybe Lando was so drunk he doesn’t remember. It wasn’t anything anyway. Just Oscar going for that little bit of normalcy. It feels a bit pathetic, latching onto the first person who pays attention to him like a duckling taking to the first one it sees when getting out of its egg. Well, in Oscar’s case, he thinks he has mitigating circumstances.

But yeah. Nothing to write home about. Lando probably kisses lots of people all the time. What’s one weird kiss shared with someone who’s not even real most of the year? 

He steps back and keeps watching the celebrations from the sidelines. As he always does. As he always will do.

………………

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t find an excuse to leave,” apologizes Lando once he steps foot in the room, out of breath.

His curls are messier than before, as if he’d run his hands through them one too many times. Oscar perks up from the sofa he’s sitting on, reading a random book he’s found on the shelves on the wall. Something about building cars. 

“It’s okay,” he reassures him, putting the book down. “They will find it weird if they see you disappear the whole night two years in a row.”

“I know, but…” Lando sighs, dejected. “I get to spend the rest of the year with them. I only get you one night.”

Oscar opens his mouth to make an innuendo, changes his mind, closes his mouth. He’s not sure they’re here yet. He’s not sure where they stand on a lot of things. 

“Maybe this time will be different,” he settles on, but his smile is not convincing even to him.

Lando looks at the bookshelves, eyes unfocused, and doesn’t answer. It’s like the energy shifted suddenly in the room, and Oscar is desperate to get it to how it was before. “Tell me about your friends.”

This gets Lando’s attention. “What?”

“I’ve shared my stories with you. I want to hear yours as well.”

He pats the space next to him on the couch. “C’mon, Lando, indulge me. Last wish of a dying man or something like that.”

The other tenses. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Sorry.” He rolls his eyes. “Last wish of a man who’s going to disappear in a few hours if you prefer.”

When Lando still isn’t moving, Oscar decides to make a move first. He joins him in front of the door, tries to look him in the eyes but Lando’s are resolutely fixed somewhere on Oscar’s right. He hadn’t noticed before, but he’s a bit taller than him. 

It hits him with the sudden realization that he wants to keep noticing things like that. He wants to learn more about Lando, to discover new things about him over and over again, to gather every bit of information he can and add it to the little Lando file he keeps in a corner of his mind. He wants to know him in all the ways you can know a person. Once again, he wants, he wants so bad but he can’t have.  

He swallows all those thoughts and buries them deep in the cavity beside his heart.

“Lando, what’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing. I’m sorry. You wanted to hear about my friends.”

“I do, but I also want to know what’s wrong.”

“I’m sorry! I just don’t know what to do with…. With this. You. I feel bad I left you here when you already have limited time, like… I just left you alone to be with people I can literally see every other day and, yeah. It just sucks.”

“Hey, don’t beat yourself over it, it’s okay. I’m used to it, you know.” 

Lando laughs humourlessly. “It doesn’t make it better.”

“I know. I’m just… I’m powerless, okay? You deserve to be with your friends as well. Just because you’re the only one who can see me doesn’t mean you have to be stuck with me.”

“Do you think this is how I see it? Being stuck with you?”

Oscar makes a noncommittal gesture with his arms, half of a shrug, something to convey all and none of his feelings at once. I hope you don’t. I know you don’t. 

I don’t want to be the one holding you back. 

I want to selfishly keep you with me at all times.

“Because it’s not,” insists Lando, suddenly touching Oscar’s arm and searching for confirmation in his eyes. “You know it’s not, right?”

“I know.”

They’re so close now. It would be so easy to close the gap between them, to seal their lips once again. For a brief, delirious second, Oscar thinks he might do it.

He doesn’t.

“I did something, for when I’m gone.”

He goes back to the sofa, missing the weight of Lando’s hand on his arm as soon as it’s gone. He grabs a small box full of papers, something he threw together with what he could find when Lando wasn’t here. He holds it out to him.

Lando eyes it suspiciously. Oscar rolls his eyes. “I didn’t hide a spider in there. It’s just paper. For… you know, when I’m not there. You can pick one when you want. I didn’t have enough time to make enough to last the whole year, so try to not to read them all at once. I mostly wrote stupid things, just so you know, but that way it'll be as close as possible to the real experience.”

This gets a laugh out of Lando. Oscar relaxes a bit, smiling more easily than before. He wasn’t sure about the idea. He thought maybe Lando wouldn’t care about remembering him during the year. 

Until his hand just gives out and the box falls on the ground, its content emptying on the floor. 

Suddenly you can hear a pin drop. 

He looks at his hand, trembling slightly. “It’s started.”

“What?” Lando’s next to him in seconds, hands hovering around him, hesitant. Oscar looks at him painfully.

“Once my body starts being unresponsive, it’s not long before I…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence and drops on the couch, head starting to cloud. Lando sits down beside him, stroking his arm gently, like a repeat of Oscar’s panic attack. It feels like so long ago. He supposes it was. A year is a long time. 

They don’t talk. They both know there’s nothing they can do to change it.

“Can you… can you leave? In a bit? I’m not sure what happens to my body when I go, but I don’t really …” want someone to see that. It goes unsaid. 

Lando looks conflicted. “I don’t want to let you do this alone.”

“Lando, it’s okay,” repeats Oscar, trying to cup his cheek before his hand feels too weak. Lando takes it and squeezes it as if it could keep him here. 

“Promise you’ll be here next year?” he asks, desperation creeping through his voice.

“Lando, I can’t…”

“It’ll work again! It has to!”

Oscar is exhausted. His brain is already working more slowly, his eyelids feeling heavy, and he’s tired of it all. If he wakes up next time and Lando isn’t here, he doesn’t know if he can keep going.

“Can you leave now? Please? I feel like it’s time.”

Lando’s jaw is tightened, his reluctance obvious in the way he stands there for a few seconds, before finally giving up and letting go of Oscar. “See you next year. You better be there, Oscar… Do you have a last name?”

Oscar smiles weakly. “It’s Piastri.”

“Piastri. I’ll wait for you. Please come back.”

Oscar is too gone to answer, fighting to keep a semi-conscious state. When he hears the door closing, sure that Lando’s out, he lets go completely and falls into the darkness.

………………

iii.

He wakes up with a gasp, a name at the tip of his tongue, ready to be let out into the world. It doesn’t pass his lips, and he presses a hand on his chest as he sits up, heart beating furiously with the remnants of a dream.

Oscar doesn’t dream, or at least he never remembers what he dreams of, yet tonight he can feel the last blurry scenes of one playing out in the back of his mind. The second he becomes conscious of it, it slips away from him, like trying to take hold of water.

He knows it’s a dream and not a memory because it was sunny. Oscar hasn’t seen the sun in a long, long time. But the sun wasn’t the only reason for the warm feeling in his chest, the one still shielding him from the outside world like a weighted blanket. This one he knows the cause of. He doesn’t speak his name out loud, no matter how much he likes the sound of it rolling off his tongue, because for a moment he just wants to keep it to himself. 

He mourns the dream that is already lost in the depth of his memories, leaving him alone with only fleeting sensations of appeasement. He bathes in it until it’s nothing more than a pale copy of what it was seconds ago.

Now that sleep is wearing off, he thinks back to the real nights they shared, and their absence is an ache lodged between his ribs. He wishes he could have brought a bit more of his dreams into real life.

He stretches his arms, notices how he doesn’t feel any stiffness at all. It’s always been like this ; he doesn’t carry the weight of alcohol or fatigue throughout the nights. It can be an advantage when he drinks himself senseless, always waking up fresh as a rose like he just had a very good night of sleep.

And here he goes again. Another night, another year ending. He wonders what Lando was up to during all of these months. If he kept the little papers Oscar made him, if he read them throughout the year. He doesn’t know what he does for a living, where he lives, hasn't seen much of his life outside of those parties except for his friends. In truth, he’s only seen one version of him and doesn’t know him that much, he realizes bitterly.

It doesn’t help with the fact that he already feels like an impostor. He doesn’t feel worthy of Lando’s attention, doesn’t feel like he’s truly interesting enough for him, no matter how he insisted on the contrary last time. If it wasn’t for the curse throwing them together, they would never have crossed paths. 

But these kinds of thoughts won’t get him anywhere. Oscar is good at compartmentalising. It’s how he’s survived all of these years without becoming completely crazy. He’s also a rational fellow. He knows how to calm himself down, think logically, not letting himself be submerged by his emotions, most of the time. This is just a little different. It’s a bit more difficult than usual, but he’ll do it. He’ll do it. 

All he needs to do is find Lando again. He can worry about everything else later. 

Around him, the setting is familiar — a bedroom once again, plunged into darkness. He can only make out the shapes of the furniture, the light barely filtering through the curtains. He wonders if Lando put some thoughts into it when he decided where to spend his New Year’s celebration. If he pictured them together, wherever they are, certain Oscar would materialize where he is. He doesn't linger on the fact that there’s a possibility it won’t work this time.

When he peeks under the curtains, curious, the only thing betraying his surprise from an exterior point of view is the way his eyebrows rise slightly as he takes in the view, but his breath catches in his throat. Outside, the world is covered in white as far as his eyes can see, lit by rows of lamposts, with quaint little houses nestled against each other, the backdrop a range of snowy mountains. The world is quiet, a stark difference from the places he usually wakes up in. 

His mouth opens in childlike wonder. He hasn’t seen snow in a long time. It does not stir in him the same longing as the sea, the familiar pang in his heart that comes with large bodies of water like it’s calling him home, but it’s still a breathtaking sight. 

He doesn’t know if he likes the silence. It should be comforting, but it's a bit unsettling, so much that he has the sudden urge to check the date and be sure he hasn’t woken up on a random day of December, afraid of what it would mean. How ironic it is that he suddenly misses the parties and the noise. 

He knows deep down it’s because it’s the only setting he’s ever known Lando in. He’s only met him in cheers and loud music, and he wouldn’t belong here, in the stifling politeness of it all. Lando’s made to be surrounded by noise and life and people getting on tables screaming and friends orbiting around him. He associates Lando with a lot of things, but calmness is not one of them. 

He draws the curtains, letting the little light provided by the streetlamps bath the room in a warm yellow. The exposed beams of the roof makes it look like one of those houses in postcards, a perfect picture of winter holidays. For a moment, he let his mind wander, thinks of a life where he would come here with his friends, enjoy a week full of skiing and evenings by the fire. He’s not sure he likes skiing that much — he doesn’t even know if he’s tried it before. But he’d take anything if it meant living more than a night. 

When he steps in the hallway, he sees a room lit at the end of it and his heartbeat picks up in anticipation. He pushes far away the thought that this may be anyone else, maybe a couple of old people having a quiet night playing Scrabble and ready to go to bed early. But he can’t help the part of him that hopes and hopes and hopes, so much he’s sure he’s going to die of it. 

The living room is like the bedroom, although way larger than he thought it’d be : with beams of wood giving it a vintage charm, wooden floor and a fire burning in the chimney, surrounded by large sofas. Behind it, an open kitchen with giant windows.

Oscar doesn’t have time to pay much attention to the rest of the decoration. On the sofa by the fire, someone is lying down, visibly sleeping. He freezes, swallows, suddenly unsure of what to do. The moment feels suspended in time, and he’s afraid that moving would make it all tumble down, like Orpheus turning around to make sure Eurydice is following him. 

Then he makes the mistake of shifting the weight of his body on his other leg, causing the floor to creak. In the silence only interrupted by the soft crackling of the fire, the sound is deafening. The man on the couch stirs in his sleep, makes a pained noise and yawns. Oscar is still unmoving in the doorway, heart beating furiously in his chest. 

Then they lock eyes, and he sees the exact moment it dawns on Lando who’s in front of him.

“Oscar?”

He nods, though it’s useless : Lando is up already, still at a distance, looking at him like he cannot quite believe he’s here. Like he could disappear at any given moment. 

Which, well. It has happened to him before. You can’t blame him for being cautious.

“You’re here again.” He pauses, opens his mouth, closes it. “It’s really you, right?”

“It’s me.” 

It’s Lando who closes the distance first. Strides to Oscar and pulls him into a bone-crushing hug. Oscar starts breathing again as he hugs back. He hadn’t even realized he’d stopped.

“It worked, even if there’s no party.” Lando’s voice is muffled by Oscar’s hoodie. 

He hadn’t paid attention to what he was wearing, but now he notices how he’s in jeans and a blue light sweater. A comfortable outfit, made to relax at home, not party, which is curious. 

“Yeah, that’s… That’s weird, actually.” Oscar looks around, but no one comes popping out from behind a couch with confetti and balloons. They’re alone. He woke up, and there’s no party. 

“I thought maybe it was a dream again.” 

He was about to add something, but it escapes his mind instantly as he registers Lando’s words, a strange sensation twisting in his belly.

“You dream about me?”

“‘course I do.”

He doesn’t elaborate. Oscar cannot explain how it makes him feel, but it’s warm all over. He hasn’t forgotten him, even after an entire year. Oscar didn’t know he could make such long lasting impressions. Until recently, he didn’t make any impressions at all.

“Me too,” he says after a while when he realizes maybe Lando expected an answer. It earns him a laugh. “I mean… I guess I was dreaming. I don’t really remember what happens when I’m gone.”

When they let go of each other, Lando’s cheeks are bright red, unnaturally so. He also felt really hot in his arms. Oscar puts the back of his hand on his forehead, suddenly worried. “Do you have a fever?”

Lando makes a face. “Actually, yes. It’s part of the reason I’m here and not with the others.” 

“You’re sick?!”

Now that he’s mostly out of his Lando-induced foggy mind, he can actually see that he doesn’t look well at all. “What are you doing standing up? Go lie down!”

Lando whines, but he complies. Oscar immediately goes search for soup, gives up and tries to make tea with what he can find in the kitchen instead. Soon enough he’s beside Lando on the couch, putting the hot beverage in his hands. 

“This is … It’s weird isn’t it?” Lando sighs, nursing his tea.

“It’s kinda weird,” approves Oscar. “I’m not making the situation easy.”

It’s weird that they’re two boys whose fate have been entwined in a way that cannot be undone. It’s weird that they’ve known each other for two nights and yet Oscar is desperate for more. It’s weird that they work together, but they do.

“I don’t know why I can’t stop thinking about you.”

The confession startles Oscar, then his heart does the same jump it does every time he thinks of Lando in any light other than platonic. That’s a whole can of worms he’s not sure he wants to open. He changes the subject, afraid his reddening cheeks would somehow give his thoughts away. 

“So… There really was supposed to be a party?”

“We’re on holiday here, and my friend Max rents this gigantic place where we all stay,” sighs Lando. “We were s’posed to celebrate New Year’s Eve here, but we met with another group of people our age, and they invited us to their place. I stayed here because I didn’t feel too good… And I wanted to see if you would appear.”

“You stayed… for me?”

Lando’s eyes are fixed on his tea. “You’re gonna think I’m crazy.”

“Have you seen my life?” he deadpans, raising an eyebrow.

“This is something else.”

“Well, try to explain?”

“There’s nothing to explain!” He sounds defensive suddenly, before his shoulders slump in defeat. “Don’t you think this is it? This means you broke the curse?”

Oscar doesn’t want to admit it, because speaking it into existence might jinx it, but he can’t ignore it. One thing had always been consistent throughout his years of wandering. A party. 

This doesn’t qualify as a party. The curse has changed. 

“I don’t know. You were there the past two years, and it didn’t change anything.” 

Except for me, he doesn’t add.

“Maybe a kiss would work? Like in fairy tales.” 

Lando throws a tentative glance at him as he says it. The suggestion is so surprising that Oscar can’t form a proper expression on his face. 

Lando scrunches his nose. “Forget it, it’s stupid.”

“No, no! It’s just… we kissed before, and I still disappeared,” reminds Oscar. His cheeks heat up at the mention of it. He doesn’t know if Lando remembers a drunk kiss from two years ago. It was mostly a peck on the lips. 

“Yeah, but it wasn’t…”

He cuts himself, bites his lips. So he does remember. 

“Wasn’t …?” pries gently Oscar. 

Lando looks at him hopelessly. “You know.”

“I really don’t.”

“Oscar. Don’t make me say it.”

“Say what?”

There’s a few beats of silence, during which every thought that crosses Oscar’s mind sends his heart on a wild race in his rib cage. When Lando finally gives up, he’s afraid containing this much feeling will cause him to spontaneously combust. 

“That I like you! I like you, okay, and it kills me to think you’re going to disappear again. It kills me because I haven’t wanted to be with someone in such a long time and I’m ready to try everything if it means you won’t leave me at the end of the night.”

Oscar looks at him a little bit shocked. Lando’s eyes are down, embarrassment a red shade on his cheeks. 

“I know it’s probably fucking embarrassing to think I could change anything. Hell, it’s even more embarrassing to think I have a crush on someone I barely know. I want to get to know you. I want to take you on dates and everything. Also, I’ve been thinking about kissing you for an entire year and I think I’m gonna go crazy if I don’t get to do it.”

Oscar cannot begin to process any of the things that have just been said, so he decides to focus only on that last part. “Kiss me, then.”

Lando raises his head, looks at him incredulously. “You mean you want to…”

“Please.” 

Lando reaches a hand to cup Oscar’s cheek, and it’s so tender Oscar feels like curling in a ball and crying. Lando’s eyes look down to his lips, moving closer slowly to let Oscar get out of it if he doesn’t want to. Oscar has never wanted anything as much in his life, except maybe lifting his curse. To hell with Lando’s fever.

It feels like talking a breath of air when their lips finally meet. Like the world is right again. He closes his eyes and kisses back with every pent up feeling he’s kept inside all this time, diving his hands in Lando’s hair and scratching his scalp, eliciting a half muffled moan in response. The sound kinda drives him crazy. He’s gonna be so fucking addicted to it. He doesn’t think he can keep living in a world where they don’t do this every day. 

They deepen the kiss, Oscar now fully in Lando’s lap, slowly laying him back down on the couch until he’s on top of him. He’s forgotten about everything else. Nothing matters but the weight of Lando under him, the sounds he makes as Oscar drags his tongue along his bottom lip, teasing, before crashing into it. He wants to know what other sounds he can make. He wants to know what Lando likes best so as to keep him like this under him, squirming and desperate for more.

They stop before it escalates further, and he immediately misses the warmth of Lando’s lips when they break apart, out of breath and hair tousled. Oscar’s head is buzzing pleasantly, and he just lets it fall on Lando’s chest, a disbelieving laugh escaping him.

“What?” giggles the man under him. Oscar feels his body reverberates the sound. He feels like he could get drunk on it. 

“I didn’t think I’d ever get that is all.”

“What, me?”

“Someone at all.”

This sobers up Lando a bit and he sits up, readjusts his position on the couch, his arms still wrapped around Oscar. Worry is obvious on his face and Oscar immediately regrets ruining the moment.

“It’s okay,” he promptly adds. “You’re here now.”

“Oscar…”

“We can talk about it later.” 

He doesn’t want to dive into it right now. The loneliness that clung to him all these years is still burrowed close to his heart, and he wants nothing more but to forget it is here for a moment. He’s still so scared that it will end when the sun rises. 

“Let’s just… Stay there for a while, okay?” he murmurs, and Lando seems like he wants to add something before nodding. They stay in each other’s arms, Lando playing with his hair. Oscar is not tired, yet he could fall asleep right here and then. 

He wants to say how he hopes that all of this is over, but he doesn’t know how to form the words without sounding pitiful or pathetic. He’s never been the best to express his emotions. He just holds Lando a little bit tighter and hopes it can convey everything.

………………

They spend the night talking, watching TV (mostly commenting on the ridiculous programs they put up the night of the 31st), cook a horrifying meal that probably doesn’t meet human consumption standards, all of this while not letting each other more than a foot apart. They kiss a lot. Something about making up for lost time and all that. (Making out for lost time, Lando giggles and Oscar rolls his eyes). 

Lando texts his friends that he feels too bad to join them, and declines their offer to come be with him, saying he’s just going to sleep. He actually doesn’t. His head still hurts, but medicine mostly took care of it. Besides, “I’m not gonna let a fever ruin our only night together” is what he affirmed. He’s still glad to stay on the couch while Oscar goes and makes some more tea. He stays valiantly awake for someone who looks so sleepy.

Oscar feels great. Happier than he’s ever been, actually. He didn’t think he’d be allowed to have this. It feels surreal to be on this couch, with someone next to him who can see him and talk to him and who wants to be here with him. After years of cruel, painful solitude, he finally deserves to have something for himself.   

Then the night comes to an end, and he can’t escape the thoughts coming back. He doesn’t voice them out loud, because Lando’s so invested in some game they’re playing on TV he doesn’t want to ruin it.

He thinks about it. What would happen if he still disappears when the sun rises. A succession of nights, Lando growing older in each of them while Oscar never ages. Meeting time and time again but not being able to make anything of it. Oscar could never ask him to wait for him. Lando would find someone else, and Oscar would go back to his life of insignificant parties where he’s nothing more than a walking shadow. 

He doesn’t say anything, but he snuggles closer to Lando, who seems to notice something’s wrong because he turns to him and the silent look they share is heavy.

“I hope it works,” Oscar only says. He hopes with all of his might it does. “Please, make it work.”

As he buries himself in Lando’s arms, he focuses on the hands running through his hair, grounding him. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if this doesn’t work. He needs it to work. He stays there, exhaling softly against the fabric of Lando’s hoodie, heart pounding in his chest. Not daring to hope, but terribly afraid of feeling himself slip away.

………………

It feels like an eternity before he feels a finger tapping on his shoulder, bringing him back to reality. He thinks he’s fallen asleep, because he’s groggy and his body aches in every place. For a moment, he’s too disorientated to know where he is. Waking up usually means being alone and cold, but there’s a warm body against him and he’s never felt so comfortable. 

“I think we did it,” whispers a voice. Lando.

He raises his head, slowly, carefully, and immediately squints, blinded by the sun. His breath catches in his throat at the realization. It’s sunny. Oscar hasn’t seen the sun in ages. Suddenly very awake, he turns to Lando, who looks at him with his stupid, beautiful smile. 

“It’s morning?” His hoarse voice surprises him. He must’ve been really gone for a while there.

“It’s 9am.” Lando is beaming, showing his phone as proof. The date and time are irrefutable, above a picture of a group of people who must be his best friends, in ski gear, smiling broadly. Monday 1 January, 09:18. “Oscar, it worked!”

They did it. They actually broke the curse. Oscar touches his face, feels his body. No tingling. He’s solid and real. 

It’ll be time later, for everything that still needs to be said. For the relief and the bewilderment and the explanations they’ll have to give Lando’s friends who came home to see them entangled on the couch. For Oscar to look into his life and find who he is outside of the curse.

But for now, he doesn’t want to think of it. For now it’s morning, and he’s still there, and it’s enough.

“Can I take you on a proper date now?” teases Lando, but his eyes are fond, betraying his feelings.

“You can take me anywhere you want.” Oscar is not one for loud demonstrations of emotions, but he can’t fight back the smile that threatens to split his face in two. “We have the whole year.”