Work Text:
“Ugh.”
Yeah. Ugh. Good summary of Oscar's night. Or maybe his life. But very specifically, his entire day. See, Oscar was somewhat of a pessimist—he'd argue it was called being a realist. So when February started and Oscar started seeing decorations in shop windows, hearts at every street corners, he felt just a little angsty. Because why make such a thing of Valentine's Day? It was stupid. Every year, he'd try to forget about the day, because it was just like any other. At night, he'd check Instagram stories and mock people for their stupid dinners and stupid flowers and stupid confessions.
Truth was, Oscar hated Valentine's Day because he used to hope so much. When he was younger, sometimes in middle school, he'd prepare his clothes the day before, making sure to wear his most perfect shirt, combing his hair in the most fashionable way. No girls would ever ask him out, because of course. And Oscar knew that he was supposed to ask someone out, but how! In high school, Oscar somehow, magically, got a girlfriend. He put enough efforts on their first Valentine's Day to make it look like he hadn't put any effort at all. Flowers, dinner, the whole shebang. Which. Didn't feel like any other day, to be honest. Oscar wasn't a romantic, but he could be. Offering random gifts because he thought his girlfriend would like it, or paying for dinner, or proposing long walks in Hyde Park to feed the ducks.
In Uni, the concept of romance was lame and old-fashioned. Oscar was single again and it was cooler to hook up and regret it the next day. Oscar found out he liked boys too which, great, would maximise his chances to get a Valentine. But nope. Didn't happen. Every single year, on February 14th, Oscar was single and in a bad mood.
“Ugh,” Lando repeated next to him.
Yes, as if it worked if Lando complained a little bit more.
It did work.
So Oscar didn't quite call himself a hopeless romantic because he was now a grown up, thank you very much, and could see the difference between actual love and whatever the society was trying to sell him. But if someone believed in love, like really believed, like thought that Love Island was actually romantic, was his roommate.
Lando was an hopeful romantic. He'd come back home with a smile because he had a crush in the subway. He'd cry in front of movies. He'd bake cakes. He'd pinpoint his favourite lyrics in a love song. He'd spend three hours preparing for a date: The first to find an outfit, the second to get ready and listen to music to hype himself up, the third to freak out and ask Oscar for a pep talk. Lando would watch videos on TikTok of meet cutes and coo. He'd buy a pen because “Oscar (Read: Oscuh), it's pretty and I could write love letters!” He'd send kissing emojis and hearts to everyone. He'd buy any biscuits in hearts shaped. He even once cooked a heart shaped pizza. At least tried. It burned. The basil wasn't even basil. Lando would try to learn poems and end up butcher every word. He'd change his screensaver into something Valentine's Day related as soon as February started. Lando was just so full of love and Oscar knew that, because half of the love he carried was Oscar's. Or maybe, understand it that way—Oscar was terribly in love with Lando.
Which was. An issue. Obviously.
Thing was, love wasn't the main problem, because Oscar had already experienced it so whatever. But loving Lando? Disaster waiting to happen. Well, waiting really was the word because it's been a little over three years and nothing was happening. No disaster yet. Mostly because Lando didn't know. To be fair, Oscar hadn't know either. It took him an embarrassingly long time to understand that no, it wasn't normal to get flutters in your stomach when your roommate was giggling because he'd found some old ice cream in the freezer, or smiling when he was kicking his feet when two characters in that one show they've been watching for years finally got together. “Love,” Lando would sigh, dramatically rolling into the sofa, perching his chin on Oscar's lap and looking at him like that. In those moments, Oscar felt like he could risk it all. But then Lando would roll a little too much and fall on the rug and they'd share a giggle fit, Oscar's ribs would hurt from laughter, Lando would whine about being breathless and potentially dying.
So the main problem, if you didn't get it just yet, that it was Lando. Lando wasn't just a roommate, he was Oscar's best friend. Ever since they've met, the first week of Uni, bumping into each other at the pub, ordering the same beer, and getting ignored by the same barman. “Cunt,” Lando had said, making Oscar laugh. In retribution, Oscar had stolen a pack of crisps and that made Lando beam. The boy had decided right there that they'd become best friends. It sounded a little childish from the mouth of a eighteen year old, but from then, Oscar had decided not to care.
“Ugh,” he heard again.
“Yes, I get it.”
Oscar had finally opened the door of their apartment, from then, a theatrical routine: Oscar would step away to let Lando in, closing the door behind him, making sure it was locked (Lando always forgot to lock it). Lando would kick his shoes off and throw everything from his pocket to the nearest table. Oscar would put down the keys in the bowl, remove his jacket, hang it. Lando had already thrown it somewhere. His energy and joy from that very morning had disappeared. Well. Morning.
Valentine's Day fell on a Saturday this year, which was probably great for everyone going out. Lando had slept in up until noon, Oscar was reading some (boring) academic papers sprawled on the sofa, half watching whatever was on TV. Lando loved watching sports competitions, otherwise he had FOMO. Oscar had just watch many hours of skiing and only ended up with phantom pain in his knees, remembering that one snowboarding accident he and a tree had when he was fourteen. Nope, no FOMO for him.
Lando had strutted in the living room, low-hanging joggers and a large hoodie on, his week-end uniform, blasting his 'I LOVE LOVE' playlist (which was actually spelled 'I LOVE LEOV' on Spotify but he had never corrected it). 'I LOVE LOVE' was a Valentine's Day dedicated playlist with over fifteen hours of love songs from every genre. Meaning that Dean Martin could sing one minute, Daddy Yankee the other.
“Happy Valentine's Day!” Lando had sing-song in a tune weirdly similar to Happy Birthday.
“You don't wish Valentine's Day like the new year, Lando.”
Oscar probably repeated it every year. So every year, Lando would stick out his tongue.
The day itself went on normally, another fully repeated kind of Saturday. Nagging Lando to make him clean something, to make him lower the music (because Elvis Presley was singing Love Me loud enough that Oscar had almost believed the guy resurrected in their kitchen), Oscar washing the dishes at the same time that Lando tried to make heart-shaped biscuits. They had almost burnt, Oscar saved them in extremis from death by extreme heat, because Lando was busy in the bathroom trying to fix his hair. They drank tea with biscuits and jam. Strawberry jam. It was red. Almost romantic.
Needless to say that Lando didn't have any plans today. Not that he really made some usually. Because Valentine's Day was made for couples, as he said, and he would never be in a relationship at this point. Well, yes, except that time, three years ago, when his girlfriend dumped in at the restaurant, between the main dish and the desert.
Lando had listed every event available today: Yoga to learn how to love yourself, a candlelight concert dedicated to Bad Bunny, Galentine's Day with pottery painting and mocktails, or bachata classes. Thankfully, Max had saved them all by getting tickets for a rock concert. Which okay. That was different.
Oscar had cooked a quick dinner so they'd be full before the concert, while Lando was getting ready. He was apparently going for a 'rockstar aesthetic', which apparently meant a leather jacket and a t-shirt saying 'I <3 the Brits'. Oscar had eyed it with a frown, “Rude” he even dared to say out loud.
It was raining in London. Like every other day of the year so far. Oscar wondered how he hadn't drowned just yet. And because Lando had complained about having to carry an umbrella, Oscar had decided to take the car. He had work early in the morning anyway, so he probably shouldn't drink.
The concert was in a small venue, with a bunch of thirty-something, Oscar wondered what kind of music Max was listening. They had gotten beers, except for Oscar, Max and Charles shared cigarettes and a lighter outside, sheltered from the rain. “They're fucking,” Lando had said in Oscar's ear. He asked if that was a fact or one of Lando's astute prediction. (Like, if there's a ray of sunshine at four o'clock, that means I have studied enough for today, or if the we hear the neighbour fuck again when we walk in front of his door, that means I'm getting some soon. Just. Usual things.) So, Max and Charles wasn't an actual thing, but Lando had a feeling. Great.
George had sprained his ankle the previous week because Lando pushed him off a stool during the rugby game they've watched at the pub. They had mocked him the whole night but the next day, George had apparently still forced Alex to get him to the ER. Alex had sent them a bunch of selfies insulting them. George had pretty much nothing, but still insisted on wearing a pink wrap around his ankle and had a limp when he walked. So they went up the stairs of the venue where they could all sit. It was colder there, without the crowd. Lando's arms were bare, Oscar felt goosebumps on the boy's skin. Lando was chatting with Charles while sipping his beer, Oscar was nursing one of those organic colas that tasted like he earned over £3000 a month and had no taste in life whatsoever. One of them was definitely untrue.
They got up (except for George, who complained) to see the supporting act, and Lando squinted to see if any of them was cute. A quick check at their Instagram account resulted that yes, the singer and the bassist were. Fuck that. Lando had even asked for Oscar's opinion on the bassist, shouting in his ear, lips brushing his skin. Not my type was the answer. Which was true. Oscar only had one type, apparently.
The one that would lean against the railing, hips up and swaying to the rhythm in a tantalising way. Alex shot him a apologetic smile. Of course Alex knew. They all did. Except for Lando apparently. Who clapped every time a song ended, just to support those people he didn't even know and that weren't even that cute. After the supporting act, they all went to get new beers, leaving Oscar by himself with George that was cosplaying an elderly grumpy man. He even complained about the noise. It was a concert. Oscar was frustrated himself, he decided not to push it.
Lando came back sans beer and with a frown and kept quiet as he looked at the men getting the stage ready. Oscar even commented on the amount of guitars there (one of them being decorated of heart stickers), but Lando simply gave him a tight smile.
His mood shifted when the artist came in, resuming his swaying and singing some of the songs he knew. Only Max belted the lyrics with him. Charles didn't look very impressed. The singer was better than what Oscar had expected: Charisma and a nice voice, good guitar solos and the crowd seemed into it. At some point, when Lando's arms were definitely too cold, Oscar caressed his skin and leaned into his ear. Oscar asked if Lando wanted to get down there in the crowd, the boy nodded. It ended that everyone followed them, except for George, of course, and Alex, who just had to stay with him, reluctantly. Lando and Oscar found their own little spot, further away from the others (just in case they made out next to them, Lando had said). Oscar let Lando slightly in front of him, watching the stage over his shoulder. He put his hands on Lando's hips, the excuse that the boy was moving too much, but really, the world seemed a little more steady this way.
The singer dedicated the next song to all the lovers, which, ew, but Lando got excited so whatever. It was actually a good song, everyone joined in the chorus, even Oscar, which made Lando smile. Oscar placed one hand against Lando's arm, caressing the skin to offer some heat. By the end of the song, Oscar felt a little dizzy, a little nostalgic, when the crowd echoed with the singer. Lando turned his head to look at him, big eyes, a question in his lifted eyebrow. Oscar complied and leaned in.
So. Yes. Another problem was. This. Oscar and Lando might have started to do this. A little more than needed. Friends kissing. Yup.
It has somehow started at Lando's birthday, when at four in the morning, after everyone had left, they were sharing one last beer and the pink fluffy Victoria Sponge that George had ordered. They had been leaning against the kitchen counters. Lando was wearing a plastic crown on his head, glitters on his cheek. He was basically complaining about being broke and bitchless. Oscar had offered to pay the next month's rent and kiss him. One of those propositions had been a joke but Lando believed them both and kissed Oscar, right there.
It never went further than this. A kiss. Sometimes just a convenient peck to say hi or goodbye, sometimes something that bordered a make out session. There had been a Merry Christmas kiss, under the mistletoe, because Oscar hadn't come back to Australia and spent Christmas at the Norris. There had a Happy New Year kiss at midnight sharp. Another one when Oscar made a pile of pancakes one day that Lando felt sad. Or one, the previous week, when the rugby team had won the game. It used to mean nothing, and still means nothing, but not the same kind of nothing anymore. Here, hidden in the crowd, the kiss was good. Tasted like beer and mints that Lando would chew instead of vaping. Lando giggled and turned back to the stage.
Afterwards, Lando kept close to Oscar. Clinging to his arm as they left the venue, sharing their opinions on the concert and pretending they couldn't hear George. Max suggested to go to a pub, but Lando declined, for once. When they sat in the car, in silence, Oscar had turned to him, a silent question, and Lando admitted he was starting to feel kind of ill.
“Ugh,” Lando repeated once more as he sagged against the kitchen counters.
He started rummaging into the drawers, presumably to find meds.
“I go out twice in a week and I get a cold? Rude. Fucking rude. Fucking illegal.”
“What should be illegal is you wearing a T-shirt in the middle of winter.”
Lando pouted. Oscar grabbed the meds, and urged Lando to the bathroom. They even had a routine for when Lando would get sick, which was every other week really. Oscar made a tea, put honey in it, found the right meds and put them on Lando's side table, turning on the least aggressive light. Oscar joined Lando to the bathroom, who seemed frozen in front of the mirror.
“Feel like shit.”
Oscar placed his hand on Lando's forehead, skin warming up a little, first signs of fever. A feverish Lando was always a show. Oscar knew what to do from there: Grab the face wash, one layer of water on Lando's face, one layer of the product, lather it up, another layer of water. Oscar had seen Lando's routine so many times that he could make a TikTok tutorial about it. An oil, a cream, Oscar handed his toothbrush. He stayed behind Lando and caressed his shoulders.
Lando sighed when he got in bed. He removed his clothes and threw them on the floor (Oscar cleaned after him), and sipped on the tea and took the med, before letting out a sad sniff.
“Poor baby,” Oscar laughed.
“My head hurts and my ears are ringing. I can't even look at the videos from the concert!”
“Then sleep?”
“Sleep is for the weak. It's eleven on Valentine's Day. Life sucks.”
Oscar chuckled again, sitting on the edge of the bed. He checked the text Alex had just sent him. It was a video from the concert, but from Oscar and Lando kissing. He had a good angle. Alex captioned it with 'Mad work'. A sigh.
“Hey, on the bright side,” Oscar said, letting down his phone. “You still have a full hour to try to get Hinge date.”
Lando groaned, hiding behind the covers. He grabbed his plushie. It was an old rabbit (that honestly didn't look like a rabbit but see, it was a sensitive topic), of the name of Mr Gibson.
“Useless,” Lando replied. “My location is in the Olympics Village. I'm trying to bag a snowboarder.”
“Hm. You know that I used to snowboard?”
For obvious reasons, Oscar hadn't share his lame past of snowboarding in the Switz Alps because he still had a little dignity. Lando was still laughing about the time that Oscar took a tumble in their shared class of Economics, right there, in front of their professor. That was three years ago.
“Hot,” Lando said.
Oscar got up and kicked his socks and pants, before joining Lando in bed. That too, wasn't new. Comfortable. They were creature of habits.
“Don’t want to get you sick,” Lando complained.
“We kissed earlier.”
Oscar didn't feel like he had to explain anything. We kissed so we shared germs and we live together anyway and my immune system is stronger than you because I sleep properly and eat three meals a day and get enough magnesium in my body. But Lando simply blinked.
“We did,” he whispered. “Sorry.”
This time, Oscar was the one to groan. He put an arm around Lando's bare chest, hand sliding in his back, fingers tracing the curve of his spine, familiar lines that Oscar was surprised to know by heart already. Lando made an appreciative noise.
“Don't be. It felt good.”
It felt normal. Like it was the perfect time to happen and should happen more. Lando looked at him, his eyes were getting a little glassy, hopefully, he wouldn't get too feverish tonight.
“Wanna kiss you more. All the time.”
Oh, words felt so easy for Lando. He had a childish expression. As if he stole some other kid's candy. Mischievous. Oscar wanted things to be easy for him too. He knew it could be, somehow.
“You can,” Oscar admitted.
“Can I?”
Lando's voice was getting weaker, maybe the illness or the way he shouted love lyrics at Oscar's face earlier.
“All the time,” Oscar confirmed. “Kiss me all the time, if you want.”
“And love you?”
It was a risky territory, of course, but Oscar felt like drowning. Please.
“Love me all the time too, whatever.”
“Whatever,” Lando laughed, his voice breaking a little. “I'm going to do that too.”
“Is it a promise?”
“Don't need a promise. I already love you all the time. Just need more kisses. Easy.”
“Easy,” Oscar echoed. “It's easy to fall in love with you.”
“Mhm, good.”
Lando fell asleep not long after, and was feverish all night, and sick for three days. Three days of cuddling in the sofa watching stupid rom-coms and random sports on TV. Three days after Valentine's Day of Lando telling Oscar he loved him and nuzzled against his neck. Wet kisses against hot skin.
Next Valentine's Day, there were celebrating a year of being together. Lando woke Oscar up, straddling his hips and singing love songs to him and covering him with kisses. Oscar made heart-shaped pancakes, Lando took photos of it. Oscar later got flowers and Lando named every one of them and almost broke the vase. Oscar made dinner that night in their apartment, Lando lit up candles and blasted his 'I LOVE LEOV' playlist, they kissed just for the sake of it, and Oscar bought him so many gifts, because he loved him and repeated it, even when Valentine's Day was over.