Chapter Text
Lando's suitcase won't shut.
If anyone asks, it's the suitcase's fault for being an outdated piece of shit. Oscar, on the other hand, insists that Lando's put in too much stuff for the poor thing to handle. But Oscar's mouth is only really good for sucking cock, so Lando chooses to ignore the Australian's quips.
“Lando, it's not going to close. Do you really have to take the Louis Vuitton suitcase? You have a bigger, newer suitcase right there. I trip over it every time I come over.”
Lando rolls his eyes and tries to zip the stupid thing again. The logos dotting its leather surface mock him as he sighs and takes a step back eyeing the old thing distrustfully. Someone like Oscar wouldn't understand the necessity of a designer bag in such a situation.
“Lando, it's a road trip. It's going to get tossed around anyways, does it matter?”
Oscar's lounging in Lando's shitty double-bed, thin cotton sheets pooling in his lap. He looks like a Michael-Angelo painting, shirtless and showcasing smooth, pale expanses of skin to Lando's greedy eyes. There's a faint trail of hickeys splattered over his neck, where moments ago Lando had sucked and coerced the skin into blooming red and purple. A thrill of satisfaction trails down his spine at the thought of other people seeing him in this state.
“I told you, Oscar. My friends…”
“-have known you since childhood and won't judge you on your suitcase brand, Lando.” Poor, simple Oscar states. His pretty features have twisted into a gentle, encouraging smirk. Lovely, but naive. Lando can't even blame Oscar, who works a 9 to 5 as a web-designer and comes to Lando's shitty studio apartment whenever Lando asks him to. Oscar is easy, reliable and always there to pick up the fragile pieces of Lando's ego when he needs it.
Oscar doesn't get it. Oscar will never get it. Lando rarely talks about his childhood, his friends and who he was before the art degree and his job at the fancy, hipster Cafe that provided 5 different types of plant-based milk and played ‘chakra-healing ASMR relaxing subliminal beige supreme’ music. Lando sighs and tries to zip his suitcase again.
“I haven't seen these guys in ages, Osc. And the last time we met…it wasn't on good terms. You don't know what Alex had to do to convince Charles to come. I just…I don't want to fuck this up.” Lando admits, finally throwing the suitcase open to analyze what would have to be left behind. The suitcase is packed to the brim with the few designer items Lando's managed to thrift over the years and the few pieces he had brought with him to university. His nicest shirts and trousers and swimming suits take up the rest of the space.
“Alex…the one who's getting married?” Oscar asked, lifting himself off the bed. The frame creaks, a dead give-away to the fact that Lando scoured it from a junkyard and got it for a reduced price because the guy who owned the yard took pity on him. But he has to do what he has to do and the bed frame is solid enough to hold despite Oscar's best attempts to demolish it and Lando at the same time.
The bedsheets slide off the rest of Oscar's naked body and drool pools in Lando's mouth at the sight of lean, strong thighs and a gorgeous, snatched waist. His eyes trail appraisingly over Oscar's figure, forgetting about his packaging emergency for a second.
“Um…um, yes! Yes, Alex. We met him at the engagement dinner, remember? With Lily? You liked Lily, I remember.”
Oscar smirks at Lando's flustered state, taking a step forward and then another, till he's pressed to Lando's back. His warm skin sends shivers up Lando's body and the way he wraps a hand around Lando's waist is too casual for Lando to be freaking out over it as much as he does.. “I suppose I was a bit distracted, though I do remember what happened after and I quite liked that.”
Lando snorts, letting his head fall back to Oscar's shoulder, as the Aussie's lips press to his heated skin, nibbling on his pulse point. It's wholly distracting, and Lando finds himself forgetting what he was supposed to do. Images of Oscar from that night flash through his mind, bitten off gasps and strangled moans and the tightness-
“Freak.” Lando scoffs out affectionately, his hand moving up to gently card through Oscar's barely thinning hair. It's soft under his palms, probably due to some expensive bullshitting shampoo made from the water of the Himalayas or something elite like that that Lando may have purchased in his teenage years. Nowadays, he makes do with 3-in-1s that reek of chemicals and probably do more harm than good to his hair.
“Your freak though, yeah?” Oscar mumbles, soothing over the red spots with soft lips and gentle caresses. Lando sighs in bliss, their figures swaying gently. The overhead fan whirrs quietly, providing a gentle breeze to cool down his sweat-slick body. In his really terrible apartment, Oscar is the one luxury he allows himself to afford. Perhaps the only expensive thing he needs.
“But we always do have better sex after engagement parties. Which is why you better hurry home after the trip, Hattie's engagement party's in two weeks.”
The bliss is broken.
Lando's eyes snap open and the soft sunlight shining through his blinds hurts his eyes so much he squints in an attempt to stop the burning. He pulls away reluctantly, letting his hands fall to his sides. Oscar stops preening, stilling against Lando's neck. The world stops for a second or two, before Oscar sighs, this deep, disappointed yet unsurprised sigh and pulls away as well, taking a step back and then another. Lando wants to reach out and hold him again but Oscar has that glint in his eyes that tells him physical contact won't solve this argument.
“Lan, you promised.”
“I know, I know I did but-” Lando sputters, averting his gaze from Oscar's and turning back to the suitcase, pulling out a pair of shorts and a shirt he doesn't like all that much anyways.
“But nothing! Mum wants to meet you, Lando. And dad…he wasn't the best when I told him but he's willing to try! You know how much effort it took for me to tell them.”
Lando doesn't look up and continues to unpack, his teeth worrying at his bottom lip. The taste of metal blooms on his tongue, the tell-tale sign that he's gone too far and cut his lip. The pain helps him relax, but he still can't formulate words to explain.
“Oscar, don't you…don't you think meeting parents and going to your sister's engagement is more the type of stuff you'd take…your boyfriend to?”
Lando regrets the moment those words leave his chest because Oscar's expression turns stormy, his eyebrows furrowing. If this were any other disagreement, any other minor argument, Lando would've kissed away the frown pulling at Oscar's features but he restrains himself. He watches guiltily as Oscar's expression falls into resignation.
Lando has a habit of addressing the wrong elephants in the wrong rooms at the wrong times. And this particular, ginormous elephant has been addressed in the torrid heat of his studio apartment, 4 hours before his flight leaves for Barcelona.
“This has been going on for 5 months, Lando. We went for a vacation retreat in Miami, for fuck’s sake. You know all my friends, you've basically moved into my apartment, and I know how you feel about me! Stop bullshitting.” Oscar states, not yelling but firm and unyielding. Stable, kind, patient Oscar who never questioned Lando's spontaneous creative retreats that were just glorified quarantine sessions, who never asked Lando to get a better apartment or to get a normal job. Oscar who has only ever asked for one thing, the thing Lando should probably give him.
“It's just…It's just sex, Osc. I told you this.” Lando insists, and he hates that he sounds like a wounded panda or something. His voice breaks in the middle of the statement, perhaps giving away the blatant lie that colors his tone every time he says bullshit like this.
“You can't seriously be telling me it was just sex when you punched that guy who was touching me in the club last Friday. You cannot be saying that after you said that you'd never met someone as perfect as me-” Oscar says, his face going slightly red, a tell-tale sign of his anger. His features have smoothed out the scowl, only leaving a frightening blankness behind. Lando flounders, his mouth opening to say something that never leaves his tongue.
“You were uncomfortable, Oscar. And it's-it's just really good sex.” Lando whispers, turning around to face away from the one man who can ruin him without even trying. The words are dipped in acid and they burn his tongue because it's a lie-Lando was jealous in that club, was jealous of the way that boy had run his fingers down Oscar's sides and had touched his neck with his lips like the younger was something free to be claimed when he wasn't. But Lando can't tie Oscar down, because-he can't.
“Okay.” He's shut down. Lando hates when Oscar's voice goes flat. Oscar isn't typically very expressive, but there are micro-changes that Lando has learnt to recognize. When he's feeling particularly dominant, his sentences start ending in lower pitches. When Oscar wants Lando to take control, his voice meekens ever so slightly. When he's happy, you can hear his smile slur his words slightly. Lando knows a lot about Oscar, and yet absolutely nothing at the same time. He knows Oscar prefers sex to be simple and he doesn't like to talk much during it, but he doesn't know how Oscar takes his coffee. He knows his favorite song, Purple Rain by Queen, but he doesn't know which movies he likes or what his favorite super hero is.
He doesn't really know anyone in that way, except the friends he'll be meeting in a few hours.
“Oscar, please.” Lando whispers, turning around and taking a step forward to reach out for Oscar. Oscar's looking off to the side, like he can't bear to look at Lando and something in his heart twinges at the sight. Lando presses closer, tucking his head under Oscar's chin, wrapping him up in a hug that feels too manipulative to be sweet. Lando can hardly be called a saint, but Oscar brings out a particular brand of cruelty in him. No matter how much he wishes it didn't exist.
“I need you.”
Oscar doesn't hug him back. His back remains ram-rod straight, eyes zoned out and posture defensive. Lando pulls back slightly to look up to him, but there's nothing. Only a frightening blankness that reminds him of how Charles would get when he and Max would start arguing. Lando chooses to ignore how startlingly similar Oscar, his current not-boyfriend and Charles, his supposed rival were. Not in looks, but in behavior. The need to take care of people, the way they never asked too many questions.
It keeps him up at night sometimes.
“I'm tired, Lando.”
The need to keep all their emotions in a bag and never let them out till the fabric rips and it all comes tumbling to the floor. But by that point, it's too late and the blood is spilt and everyone has seen what people like Oscar and Charles do to themselves for pride.
“You haven't slept. I kept you awake-”
“I'm tired of this. I'm tired of chasing after someone who doesn't want to be caught. I'm tired of running a marathon with someone who only loves the thrill of the race and not the trophy, not the relief at the end of it.” Oscar says, the pain so poorly concealed in his voice that Lando's breath hitches. He doesn't know how to fix this.
He's broken his favorite thing, his only thing.
“Oscar, isn't this enough? Aren't-Aren't I enough?” Lando pleads and he's very selfish, asking questions like that, knowing how much Oscar struggles with people-pleasing tendencies. He's a manipulative piece of shit, a hereditary trait passed to him from his father that he's never been able to lose as quickly as he lost the material wealth he inherited.
“I don't know, Lan. I don't know.” Oscar takes a deep breath in, like he's preparing himself for something even he isn't ready for. Lando sucks in a sharp breath, waiting for the bomb to drop, knowing it was his own thumbprint that authorized the launch.
“I care for you, Lando. But I can't do this anymore.”
Lando lets go, and takes a step back. He's been good, and he's ruined the only thing that's still working for him. No matter how much he says that he's changed, that he's different, he's not. He's gone back to his old self, the one that claws and breaks and ruins. For a second, he blinks and it's Charles’ heartbroken eyes staring at him, not Oscar's.
“You're ending us.”
“Even if I was, Lando, there is no ‘us’. I need time. To think.” He whispers, taking a step back and beginning to dress again. His pants are thrown under Lando's bed where the rest of his stuff from the past is hidden away, a trunk of worms he refuses to unpack and stare at because those worms have probably mutated into some living, flesh eating monster and he doesn't want to see that.
“You can't do this.” Lando pleads, but Oscar definitely can. There's nothing stopping him from changing the locks to his apartment, from banning Lando from his office. There's nothing stopping him from never coming back to Lando's place and there's nothing stopping him from…stopping.
“I don't want to, Lan.” Oscar says heavily. He shrugs on his shirt, Lando's favorite shirt and starts zipping up his pants. Before he tugs the button close, he stops and looks at Lando with pain in his eyes. “Go meet your friends, Lando. Have fun, reminisce, let go of whatever shit happened in high school.” He says, looking straight at Lando, before going back to dressing up. “Hattie's engagement is in two weeks. You have that time to think about us. If you come, you'll always be welcome. If you don't…”
Oscar stands up from where he knelt tying his shoelaces.
“Have the decency to mail me the stuff I left behind here.”
Oscar steps forward, and looks at Lando as if searching for an answer he wants to find. Lando doesn't want to know what the result is. All he knows is that Oscar bends down to press the softest of kisses to Lando's lips. The Brit hates the fact that it tastes like a goodbye.
Oscar steps out of the apartment. All that's left is Lando and a Louis Vuitton suitcase.
-
Lando uses a considerable amount of his savings to pay for his flight.
Vacations are something Lando doesn't think about often. He isn't in the financial position to have one. The last vacation he went on was the Miami trip with Oscar, something that was paid for by the Aussie who had a considerably cushier salary at his corporate job than Lando's barely-above minimum wage profession.
In reality, both Charles and Alex offer to pay for the flight. But Alex has done more than enough by paying for the entire trip, including the vehicle and the hotels, and Lando hasn't been in contact with Charles for long enough to feel comfortable accepting money from him. Charles is in a considerably better position than the rest of the lot, at least financially, though. Despite the lack of nepotism roots, he's making bank at some corporate law firm as a lawyer.
There was a time when Charles couldn't even afford the stupid ski-trip the school would take them on for winter break. Max or George or occasionally, Lando would pay for his seat and force him to come along to the trip. Charles wouldn't be able to look them in the eye for the next three months. Guiltily, Lando remembers a time when he'd allowed Charles to do one of his projects as compensation. He'd been given a 100 on that assignment, and that was the best grade he'd been given, ever, in his long, long high-school career.
So Lando flies economy, and spends most of the 11 hour flight lamenting over his relationship that wasn't a relationship, getting tired from the emotional strain, and then sleeping while listening to Sabrina Carpenter sing about pretty boys with big cocks and the horror of the modern dating scene.
It isn't a very enjoyable experience.
The plane air has a personal vendetta against him as well, because when he finally touches down in sunny Barcelona, his hair is flat and messy and his lips feel dryer than the Sahara Desert. His eyes have dark circles and they look bloodshot from all the crying. The girl sitting next to Lando genuinely thought he was running away from an abusive relationship and ignored him for the rest of the flight when she found out that he had just broken the heart of one of the sweetest guys ever and was actually on a flight to experience a luxurious, bachelor-party roadtrip from Spain to Monaco.
(She conveniently didn't ask why Lando was flying economy if the roadtrip was as luxurious as he made it sound.)
He collects his Louis Vuitton suitcase from the overhead cabin and walks out into sunny Barcelona. The weather is frankly, amazing and the sun shines down upon his weary shoulders like a gentle father kissing his estranged son. Taxis mill around the airports, but there's one particular guy holding a ‘Lando We Can Be World Champion’ sign signaling that his stupidly rich friends have paid for a taxi already. And from the looks of it, it's a certain pretty Monègasque.
The man who drives the Taxi is awfully chatty, but Lando appreciates the broken English and the effort to communicate. Lando's British accent doesn't help either, and it makes him wonder how George is going to fare in the Spanish, Italian, French and distinctively non-anglophonic atmosphere.
“So, you are…going on boys’ trip?” The driver asks, his weathered face grinning at Lando through the rear view mirror.
“Ah, something like that. Our friend, Alex, he's getting married.” Lando explains sheepishly. The concept of a bachelor's party was something all four of them had been against, despite Lily's insistence that she was fine with it. It had felt disrespectful, especially since none of them were the type of fuck around with pretty women in Spain or Italy. But a forgotten pact from High-School of all times had been brought up by George of all people, and Alex had jumped on the opportunity to get them all together. It was the only way Charles could be convinced to come; he was finicky about promises.
“Married in Barcelona? Hah! Not good idea, too many tourists. Better in Italy.” The man explained. He tapped at the hanging logo from his rear-view mirror, a bright yellow logo with a familiar Prancing Horse that had been a daily-sight in Lando's dorm room in High school. “You a tifosi?”
“Ah…no, no I'm not.” Lando laughs nervously, his fingers rubbing against the back of his neck. “They're not really getting married here. They're getting married in Thailand. He's half Thai, and she's Chinese so…it's more cultural I guess. This is a bachelors trip, I suppose.” He admits with a wince, looking out the window. Tourists mill around on foot, and the streets get more and more crowded the closer they get to the hotel.
“Ah, la despedida de soltero! Oh, you will have much fun in Barcelona then! Our women are…very pretty.” With that, the driver grins a nefarious grin and makes a very crude gesture with his fingers that makes Lando's breath hitch in horror. The man laughs, head thrown back as he races through the streets with a speed that scares Lando slightly.
“I'm gay.” He blurts out, and immediately flinches, cheeks coloring red. There's dead silence in the car, only the sound of the rumbling of tires and the honks of cars. Lando wants to curl up and die in shame. He has a particular skill for embarrassing himself, one he's carried through high-school and onwards for the next 10 years as well.
“Ah.” The taxi driver finally states, eyebrows furrowing. Lando vaguely starts wondering if he's going to get hate-crimed and left decapitated in a ditch.
“Nothing wrong with that. Love is love, my daughter is falling in love with a woman. Our men are not bad looking either.” The driver continues, and Lando heaves out a sigh of relief, a smile stretching at his lips. Before he knows it though, the driver continues.
“I do hope this…this Alex fellow is not gay though. Doesn't seem fair to his wife.”
Lando doesn't stop snickering till he gets dropped off.
His laughter abruptly stops after his driver wishes him well and speeds off to terrorise more English gay people on vacations presumably. Lando knew he'd have to face ghosts from his past he'd been running from for a while, but he'd forgotten just how expensive those ghosts were. The hotel he's dropped off to screams of exuberance. It's all marble fixtures and fountains and iron-wrought railings. It feels wrong to be back in a place like this. Likes he's taken back all the steps he'd taken to accept that he would never have a life like this again.
The luxury feels like a slap in the face.
The porter comes to scurry his luggage away to his hotel room the second he checks in under the name Alex Albon. He looks around questioningly, before his gaze lands on them. A familiar mess of dirty brown waves, and straight black hair that could only belong to two guys. George and Alex stick out even in the tourists that crowd the seating area in the reception. They're lounging on a few arm chairs, pouring over a map of Spain, seemingly immersed in deep conversation. Lando begins to walk over, a grin pushing at his lips.
He's missed the bastards.
“Alex, Georgie-! Aren't you looking dashing?” Lando bellows, much to the chagrin of the people in the surrounding area. Alex gets up, a laugh bubbling from his lips as he wraps his arms around Lando in a quick hug. George grins as well, muttering a quick and teasing “Lando Norris”, before engulfing him in a hug. George feels slight in Lando's arms, a fact that confuses him to no bounds because the taller had always been slightly bulkier than the rest.
“How was the flight? 11 hours is no joke, mate.” Alex questions, sitting back down. Lando settles into the nearest arm chair as well. Their reconciliation doesn't hit as hard as it would with Charles: Lando had met most of the St. Peter-era friends at Alex's engagement party. George, Max, Carlos, Valtterie, Daniel and the others had been ecstatic to be reunited.
No one talked about the empty chair with a placard still in front of it.
“You look like you've been through a meat grinder.” George states, a long, bony hand reaching forward to ruffle through Lando's admittedly flattened hair. The motion is familiar, affectionate. For a second, Lando can forget about Oscar and the implication of his last words and focus on this.
The four of them had been the quartet of the school.
George had been the rich, British prick most people were terrified of. He'd been a bit of a control freak back then, using people as pawns. He was as much of a bitch as he was funny. Dramatic and the center of attention constantly, throwing rambunctious parties in the dorm room and threatening teachers with suspension for failing him.
Lando had been his second in command, he supposes. Equally rich, equally good-looking and equally egotistical. They'd reigned the halls of St. Peter's Boarding School for Boys, entangled in every scandal and every scheme. Lando had been perhaps a bit less ambitious, more akin to a prince than a king.
Alex had been the moderating influence on the two. Stable, kind, easy going. More likely to stick around with the kids who had their noses buried in books and the geeks, yet irrevocably drawn to the two. Alex and Lando had been friends for ages, having started at the school's junior program since Pre K. Alex had always discouraged their antics and had kept them in check when they were about to fly off the rails in a manner they would never come back from.
Charles had been the enigma of the group. Lando remembers the poisonous jealousy that tainted both George and himself when the brunette was mentioned. The Monègasque Prince, Mr. Perfect. He had always been quiet, studious. Always up for fun but always in moderation. The one who didn't fit in, never fit in anywhere. In the beginning, Lando had thought of Charles as a little pet to George, a charity project, someone to lick his boots.
Charles had been the only one with the guts to stand up to George in the end.
Lando tries not to think about The Great Revolt that occurred in the fall of Senior Year.
“Planes don't do well for me mate. Trust me, I'll look prettier than you by tomorrow.”
George laughs, head of curls tossed back as Alex grinned at Lando. The scene is so familiar, it reminds Lando of dorm rooms and fireplaces blazing with flames. They had a friend group back then, eight or so of them crowding around the fireplace they had claimed as their own. But the four of them had always been the center of it all. The center of attention, the faces that people recognized throughout school. Their names used to be mentioned in gossip blogs, first for their invincibility, and then for their downfall.
“Ah, Lando. Always making excuses for your looks. The plane can only be blamed for like, 50% of your unattractiveness. First-Class treats you quite a bit better than Economy does.” Alex crows, leaning back into his chair. The first crack appears in his facade, but Lando forces a grin.
“Doesn't matter whether you eat caviar or fucking pretzels, dude. You're still thousands of meters into the air. They don't pump special air into first-class now, do they?” Lando retorted. His back twinges, presumably from the position he'd slept in in economy. A reminder of how much his friends don't know, perhaps.
“Speaking of caviar, when's the princess going to come?” Lando mumbled, looking at his watch nervously. Lando gets to see the life drain out of George's self satisfied smirk.
They don't usually talk about Charles. Maybe because the Monegasque more or less disappeared from their lives 10 years ago. The last time Lando saw Charles Leclerc was immediately after graduation. The boy hadn't stuck around for the celebrations, hadn't even said goodbye. He'd gotten into the back of a modest Toyota driven by his elder brother and zoomed away.
7 years later, Lando saw Charles Leclerc in a legal magazine of all things. The prodigious new hire by the top law-firm in New York, Vasseur & Binotto.
“I don't know. But even if he comes late, not a word out of you two. I had to find Pascale just to get his number, and it took me weeks to convince him to come.” Alex mumbles, looking away from the expensive Rolex wrapped around his wrist. A statement of wealth that leaves a bitter taste in Lando's mouth.
Lando looks at George, and sure enough. The Brit looks miserable, eyes downcast and mouth turned into a frown. George had never moved on from Charles' disappearance. Then again, Lando hadn't either.
“Are you sure he isn't going to flake? I wouldn't blame him if he did-” Lando starts, but he's immediately cut off by Alex jumping to his feet, his face breaking into a wide, ecstatic grin.
From behind Lando, a loud, excited cheer resonates through the room, distinctively French and melodic. “ALBONO-!”
Alex nearly trips over the table in an effort to reach the voice. Lando turns around in his chair, a grin pulling at his face without his consent. He turns just in time to see Alex slam into a tall, slender brown haired boy, wrapping his arms tight enough to cut off circulation. The boy has to rise to his tip-toes to wrap his arms around Alex's neck properly, and his head rests on Alex's shoulder gently. It's shockingly intimate, the hug.
Lando forgives them though. Because the eyes that still haunts his sleep peek out from Alex's neck. Beautiful, sage green and knowing. Charles Leclerc had always had awfully perspective, cat-like, undeniably gorgeous eyes. They'd unnerved Lando in his younger years, but now. Now they only remind him of home.
The hotel guests around them gape, though quite a few women and men smile at the happy scene. Alex refuses to let go of Charles for quite a few moments, before eventually attempting to disentangle himself from the Francophone's arms. When he finally extracts himself, Lando is finally able to look at the ghost of his childhood friend.
Charles Leclerc has only gotten more attractive over the years. But there's a happiness peeking from his eyes that had only ever been present in their youth, one that had dimmed in Senior year.
He's missed him. Lando has missed Charles like a broken bone that refused to heal. A missing arm that was never replaced by a prosthetic.
He rises to his feet before he even knows it. George rises too, albeit less enthusiastically and more out of pure shock. Maybe George had been waiting for Charles to bail out as well.
Alex wraps an arm around Charles’ waist and guides him over where they all were sitting. Charles’ cat-like features widen into a smile so bright, it rivals the Spanish sunshine. “Lando Norris. Don't you look like an abused rat.”
Lando laughs, a bright, bubbly thing. “Ah, I'm only a rat for you, Charlie-boy.”
Before he knows it, they're wrapped in an embrace far too tight. Lando wouldn't give it up for the world. The truth is, Charles is far from his favorite friend. They were close, closer than most people, but there was always a dissonance between them. They were different, as different as they could be, but distance makes the heart grow fonder. Charles was the type of guy no one missed till he was gone. Lando…Lando missed Charles.
The hug seems too long and too short, too tight and yet not tight enough. How does one express 10 years of longing, of wondering, of missing in one moment? You can't. You can only hug them tight and pray they don't leave.
When Charles pulls away, it's with a faint kiss pressed to Lando's cheek, and an enthusiastic wink. “Did you like my taxi driver? I gave him specific instructions for the greeting board.” Lando laughs, incredulously and in awe. “Only you would find such a stupid, old reference so amusing, mate.”
Charles simply grins and pats at his cheek gently, before moving away.
George has been standing the entire time.
Lando winces at the hope blooming on George's face, his body leaning forward as if waiting to be embraced. His expression is honest, open in a way the Russells do not allow themselves to be. His aristocratic features have softened. When he speaks, his voice sounds like a soft exhale of breath: “Charles.”
Lando watches in horror as a wall slams down on Charles’ face, a mask of impersonal politeness sliding over the radiant warmth. He nods in acknowledgement, eyes cool and even. “George.”
Charles’ hand sticks out in greeting. George looks…gutted.
Slowly, hesitantly, the two shake hands and something in George's expression cools as well. It feels like business partners meeting instead of friends who've known each other since they were eight.
“It's good to see you all again. Let's sit down, I am…exhausted.” Charles announces, clearly trying to divert attention from whatever the fuck had just happened. Alex nods in encouragement, and Lando collapses into his seat. The silence is stifling for a bit, before it thaws.
“Marriage suits you, Albono. You are glowing.” Charles throws out, finger rotating a ring on his finger. Alex seems to appreciate the bone Charles throws at them, because he laughs, bringing a hand up to play with the lobe of his ear.
“We aren't married yet. We just got engaged, we want to take it slow, y'know? Pretty sure her dad's convinced I'm a gold digger, actually." Alex admits, and Lando's shoulders shake with laughter at the thought. Alex out of all of them, had been the least materialistic in terms of wealth. He would've been the last person to marry for money.
“Ah, but Lily's amazing. Lovely woman, she knows how to keep Alex on the ground and stop him from fluttering away with the fairies.” George finally states, seemingly coping with Charles’ icy greeting quickly.
“She sounds lovely, Alex.” Charles admits, an honest, open expression on her face. “I can't wait to meet her.”
“So that confirms it then? You're coming for the wedding?” Lando questions, turning his attention to Charles curiously. As far as he could see, Charles had changed over the years. He was just as sweet, as infectious, but there was something more mature about the cut of his shoulders. And yet he seemed lighter than ever, like an invisible weight had been removed from his shoulders.
“Typical Charles, yeah? Disappears and then comes back into your life with no explanation.” George finally states, a cruel grin slipping onto his face, disguised as something amusing. Charles stops, his shoulders stiffening and his eyes narrowing slightly.
In just as cool of a voice, Charles finally states: “Not all of us can afford to stick around every time someone fucks up, George.”
The conversation continues. Charles and George don't look at each other.
They have separate hotel rooms, though immediately after arriving, Alex abandons his and sprawls onto Lando's bed. George sits at the couch at the side, scrolling through his phone. Charles is typing furiously, hands moving at lightning speed, freshly showered and looking like a Greek God sent to converse with mortals.
“So, what's the plan?” Lando asks tentatively, looking at George and Alex, the only two who knew what was actually going on.
“Well, today we rest.” Alex states, ringing his hair out with a towel. Alex and George had chosen to spend some time in the pool while Lando and Charles cleaned up. Lando takes a moment to appreciate Alex: his black hair glints wickedly in the soft lights of the hotel. He's shirtless, and Lando is just a man after all, who won't give up the chance to appreciate a strong body. His stomach is hard and his muscles defined: he's grown past his scrawny figure, into someone capable.
Lando has missed so much time.
“The plan is to leave tomorrow.” George drawls from where he's laying down on the sofa, his blue eyes gazing up at Lando. Lando hums in confirmation as Alex finally discards the towel and throws it onto Charles’ head. Charles lets out a yelp in protest, pulling the wet towel off his face with a disgusted expression, before throwing it to Lando, who in a stroke of genius and rare athleticism, spikes it onto George's limp figure.
The Brit groans in disgust and flings the towel onto Lando's pristinely made hotel bed. In response, Lando flings himself onto George as retribution, who lets out a sudden gas of air at the weight.
“We kick jet lag's ass, and by ‘we’ I mean you and Charles. George and I wisely live in London, so there isn't much of a time difference. We leave at 12 tomorrow, get a car and start driving.” Alex finishes, throwing himself onto Lando's king sized bed and sprawling out like a goddamn eagle.
George continues, voice slightly winded from having a Lando Norris perched on his back. “We go from Barcelona to Nice, stay the night there, do some sightseeing, and then we continue the plan.”
Charles finally looks up away from his laptop, a soft frown pulling at his face. “If you want to get to Monaco, just move on from Nice. It's barely an hour's drive from there. Why loop into Italy?”
“Because, Charlie.” Alex grins, pulling himself off the bed and walking to where Charles sat cross-legged in an arm chair. He looped his arms around Charles’ neck from the back, before leaning down and placing a smacking kiss to his cheek. “Adventure. I want to spend time with you guys. And you love Italy, so I don't see why you're complaining.”
“Charles doesn't know how to have fun.” George snarks, and Lando grins before pressing his weight further into George's figure, rendering the man speechless and breathless from the sudden weight.
“I don't know if Lily would appreciate you kissing a youthful adonis such as Charles, Alex. Better watch where those lips go." Lando teases, fingers reaching forward to tug at George's hair. George responds by suddenly floundering about and throwing Lando off his back with a sudden jerk. Lando yelps as he falls to his ass on the ground, George grinning triumphantly at him from the couch.
“What Lily doesn't know won't hurt her.” Alex states, wiggling his eyebrows before pressing loud, obnoxious kisses to Charles’ face aggressively. Charles, like a disgruntled cat, whined and tried to squirm his way out of Alex's embrace unsuccessfully, much to Alex’s chagrin.
“Maybe the taxi driver was right. Maybe you are gay…” Lando murmured. Before he even registered what was going on though, Charles was running to the opposite side of the room, brandishing the wet towel like a whip.
“The only person who should be watching their lips is Lando's mother. Last I remember, they were around my cock, if you understand what I-”
Before Charles can complete his sentence, Lando pounces on him and sends him sprawling to the ground. He can't stop his grin though, as George and Alex's shocked laughter rings out behind him.
-
Charles keeps on texting on his phone throughout dinner.
Alex keeps on threatening to throw Charles’ phone out of the window, but Charles keeps on insisting on ‘just one second, Alex, s'il-vous-plaît’ and Alex has resigned himself to sighing into his plate of Alfredo Penne Pasta.
George is on his 4th glass of wine but he still seems somewhat coherent, a feat Lando finds quite impressive. George has been awfully silent the entire evening, a fact the Brit doesn't miss. Lando wonders if it has something to do with the obvious discontent between him and Charles, though he tries not to let it bother him.
The Spanish music in the back is loud but jovial, and Lando sways to the tune of it. Charles eventually sets his phone down on the table, though it keeps buzzing incessantly.
“So, how have you been? I feel like I have missed a lot, though it will probably be impossible to catch up in 5 days.”
“You have missed a lot, mate.” Alex admits, taking a sip from his mostly-full glass of wine. “Well, you already know I'm engaged.”
“Ah, are you really?” Charles questioned, a sarcastic grin pulling at his face. Lando finally joined the conversation. “Yeah mate, engagement ring and all. I don’t think he's joking around anymore.”
“Ah, well. I suppose you're stuck now, mate. Tough luck.” George mumbled around a mouthful of Paella. He picked up a table cloth and delicately wiped at his chin. The cruel voice inside Lando's head scoffs out a Spoilt Princess that seems a bit too mean for the occasion.
“You're a bunch of losers who’re going to die alone. I love Lily, okay? We're perfect for each other." Lando hummed in approval, as Alex continued. “Aside from that, I have some news: the branch agreed to let me transfer to the USA. Apparently, a lot of engineers are needed in NYC.”
“Mate, that's wonderful! You'll love New York. It takes a while to get used to, but it is worth it, trust me." Charles added, his lips twitching slightly. Lando took a sip of his wine, before asking: “Oh yeah, that firm. Vasseur & Binotto. How's the big law treating you?”
Alex grinned, his teeth slightly wine stained. “Lando's been keeping tabs on you for us. Though I think George's dad's company was dealing with your firm for a bit.”
Charles hummed gently, swirling his pasta around his plate. “The firm is…honestly, everything I wanted. Law is such a beautiful profession as well. And I am good at it, they are thinking to promote me to Junior Partner very soon.”
“That's amazing dude. I wish i had that kind of ambition, but I'm honestly just fucking around right now.” Lando admits. The lie tastes like corn soup, and he alerts his gaze before anyone reads too much into it. “Junior Partner is genuinely crazy though. You're like…what, 28? And you graduated…you graduated at 25, so that's 3 years? Lets drink to that boys, at least one of us has a stable career going.”
“You're a software engineer, Alex, you don't get more stable than that.” Lando mumbled, but lifted his glass in recognition as well.
They all take long swigs of their glasses, though George keeps on drinking long after they've stopped, draining his glass completely empty. He sets it down with a thunk, his movements abrupt and sudden.
“He's so washed.” Alex giggles out, sliding the glass away from George carefully to prevent the Brit from drinking more.
“That's impressive, Charles.” George starts. Charles’ eyebrow twitches at the tone, dull and emotionless. “I guess a glass office and a couple thousand euros was all it took to get you to abandon…what, 10 years of friendship?”
The silence on the table is deafening.
Lando's tongue has turned to lead in his mouth. He's transported back 10 years all of a sudden, unable to actually say anything against George's rule. Alex shifts uncomfortably in his seat, and Charles doesn't say anything, just shoves pasta into his mouth and chews carefully.
“More like a couple of hundreds of thousands of euros, but sure.”
“You were the last person I thought would become a slave for money, Leclerc.” George spits out, straightening in his seat, blue eyes flashing dangerously. Lando's reminded of a King, regal and royal and forgotten and angry.
“Well, not all of us have the ability to lounge about and abuse daddy's money, George.” Charles spat out, his eyes ablaze at the accusation. The atmosphere at the table turns crueler by the passing second. “It wasn't money that made me abandon 10 years of friendship. It was the worthlessness of these 10 years. I came here to reminisce, not to be attacked.”
“Calm down, both of you. Jesus, you're worse than a pack of dogs.” Alex calls out, a frown stretching over his forehead.
“Yeah mate, let the past be the past.” Lando soothed George in a desperate attempt to salvage the situation. Charles simply grunted and emptied his wine; George looked off into the distance.
The table lapsed into silence. Eventually, Charles’ phone buzzed again and Lando, desperate for some relief, snatched the phone off the table.
“Who has been messaging you so much-” “Lando give it back-!” Charles cried out, stretching to try and snatch the phone back from Lando's hands. Using one arm to keep Charles back and the other to open the phone up, Lando grinned in victory.
“Let's see who Leclerc's new girlfriend is-”
The name Anabel Russo stares back at him.
Lando's father's assistant.
His grin slides off as quickly as it had snuck onto his face, his eyes widening in horror. Alex reaches forward and plucks the phone out of his hands. Lando didn't even try to stop him, too confused and stilltrying to make sense of what he saw.
Anabel Russo.
The woman who had practically run the Norris family. The woman who came to his Parent-Teacher Conferences in place of his dad and wrote to him to ensure he was doing alright. The woman who had been with his dad through thick and thin for 30 years. The woman he had abandoned 10 years ago when he walked out of the Norris residence with nothing but the clothes on his back.
“You have 10 minutes to explain, Charles. Before I walk out of this hotel and onto the nearest flight to L.A.”
“I didn't know you ran away from home.”
“What.”
Charles looks gutted, so inherently gutted that Lando almost gives in, but he doesn't. He looks at Charles properly, and the face that greets him back is guilty but honest. “What do you mean you didn't know I ran away from home?”
“Lando, we haven't talked since graduation. Anabel reached out to me three months ago-at first I thought she was messaging me on your behalf. But she kept on saying that-that your dad was sick and you needed me. So I thought-I thought you were just too proud to reach out, or that you knew she was convincing me. I didn't know she was lying till last week when Alex found out.”
“What-she lied to you? Why would she lie to you, of all people? Why was she messaging you? And why is she saying that my dad is sick. How did Alex find out?” Lando questioned frantically, his gaze swiveling between the two.
“He's not lying, Lando. I found out because she messaged me as well.” Alex admitted, his posture distraught and uncomfortable.
“Lando..your dad, he's sick. He's actually sick.” Charles whispered carefully, looking at Lando through cautious eyes. Lando's head whirled, his vision flickering in and out.
His dad was sick.
Adam Norris, intimidating, cruel, yet lovely Adam Norris was sick. For the last 10 years Lando had hated that name, hated everything he stood for. And he was sick now, sick enough for Anabel to be desperate to be in contact with Charles, who she knew had disappeared, who she knew Lando would give anything to have back.
Adam Norris is sick.
But Adam Norris doesn't do anything out of sentimentality.
“Well we all know why he reached out, don't we?” Lando scoffed, calling over the waiter to refill his glass. “He wants me to take over the company, so that his precious lineage doesn't die out. Well, I'm not going to take that for shit.”
“Lando..” George sighs out, shifting back into his seat. “The old man is an ass, but he loves you, you have to understand that. He's not in good shape.”
“I don't get it. Why-why would you run away, Lando. You loved Norris Manor, it's all you ever talked about.” Charles questioned, his voice tentative. His hand reaches forward to gently enclose around Lando's. The touch is comforting, he thinks, but his thoughts are so scattered he can't tell.
“The same reason you ran away, I suppose-” George starts but Alex has had enough, clearly.
“George, will you shut up, please-! God, do you have to make everything about you, and your stupid problems-!”
There's silence at the table for the second time this evening. George doesn't respond, simply lifts himself up from the table and tries to walk away. But he's too drunk, Lando realises. He can't walk straight, and ends up bumping into someone else's table.
“I'm going to take him upstairs.” Alex says, numbly, watching George apologize to the couple at the table. Charles nods, his expression stony as Alex gets up and walks over to George, helping him up and out of the restaurant.
Lando and Charles are left in silence.
“He hated me, Cha.”
Charles’ expression melts, as he shakes his head minutely. “No he doesn't Lan. He doesn't hate you. You're his son.”
“You didn't see how mad he was-” Lando admitted, looking down at his plate. The food mocks him, or at least that's what it looks like to him. “He was so mad when I told him I wanted to study art instead of business. Kept on insisting that he wanted a son like you, someone…capable of being more than a sissy bitch. Turns out, having a gay son is still acceptable. Having a gay and a useless one isn't worth shit.”
Charles doesn't speak. All he does is understand, wide green eyes staring at Lando, big as saucers. Lando's reminded once again of their school days. Charles had the ability to extract all of Lando's secrets back then as well.
“Fuck, when he brought you up…I didn't even have the courage to tell him that you weren't going to come back. That we'd fucked you up, bad, Charles. We were cruel. And I am…so sorry for that.” Lando admits, his shoulders caving in.
He wants Oscar.
Charles shakes his head, thumb rubbing against the skin of Lando's knuckles. “It wasn't your fault, Lan. And I am sorry for leaving. But you have to understand why I did it. I couldn't-degrade myself by coming back.”
“I know.” Lando whispers, before hiding his face in his palms to prevent the tears from flowing, “I know, Leclerc. I've missed you, y'know. I'm sorry we haven't been as amazing as we used to be, but fuck, I've wondered about you. I'm so glad you're alive.”
Charles smiles, withdrawing his hand slightly. “I prefer this fucked up version of you guys a lot more than whatever bullshit went on in senior year. But…I don't really want to talk about it, Lando. I just want to move on.”
-
Dinner ends with the two of them polishing up all of the others’ food. George had barely made a dent in his plate, the Paella left virtually untouched. Charles thanks the water profusely, adds the bill to their stay, and walks Lando up to his room. They're all in a suite of sorts, a very, very big suite with three rooms. If he's right, Alex and George are sharing a room and Lando and Charles have their own.
He showers, uses the hotel's expensive smelling body wash and towel dries himself. He opens Oscar's chats and scrolls through lines and lines of ‘u up?s’ and other texts similar to those.
He misses Oscar deeply.
He debates texting him, his fingers hovering over the chat, when the shouting begins.
It's Alex.
“Stop villainising him, George-! He didn't get up and leave for no reason, he left because of you, and if you aren't going to apologize then you don't bring it up!”
“He was fucking bragging, ‘Lex. What was I supposed to do, listen to his smug fucking voice talking about how fucking happy he's been without us while we've been worried sick-”
“He deserves to be happy after what you and Max did to him. He deserves to brag, George-”
“Yeah, well he shouldn't have been putting on that saintly act in school, telling Lan and I to stop bragging if he was going to be a fucking hypocrite!”
“You're being obtuse on purpose, Russel. He told you to stop bragging because you'd done nothing for that money of yours. He had to work twice as hard as any of us to get where he is in life. You just can't stand the thought of him being successful without you-”
Lando tries to tune them out unsuccessfully. The two of them seem dead-set on keeping the whole fucking hotel awake.
“You up?”
Charles’ head peeks into the room, hair wet and dripping water onto the carpet floor. Lando hums, and Charles takes that as an assent to come in, shouldering his way into the room and gently closing the door shut, as if afraid the noise would travel to George and Alex. He padded across the floor to Lando's bed, before settling down at the foot of it.
“They're talking about you.” Lando mumbled awkwardly, lying down properly and settling his head against his pillow. He's virtually naked, his chest bare and a pair of boxers slung onto his hips. Charles isn't much better, an almost see-through white shirt and boxers so short they aren't visible past his oversized shirt.
“They are.” The Monègasque hummed, his fingers trailing over Lando's bare leg, tickling the skin and sending goosebumps up his flesh. “It's annoying.”
“It is.” Lando opens his arms up, and tries not to feel too optimistic about Charles climbing into bed with him like he used to in school. But Charles has no qualms about doing exactly that, settling into Lando's side like it's natural.
Lando wonders if he dreams about something like this but with the guy having blonde hair instead of brown.
“Who are you texting?” Charles asks, nodding towards Lando's phone, which he's placed on his chest. Lando sighs, shaking his head slightly.
“I've been seeing a guy, I guess.”
“Hm.” Charles hummed, turning to his side to watch Lando. Lando closes his eyes and tries to fall asleep to avoid having to talk about it, but Charles has always been like a kitten, quiet yet achingly curious. “Is he nice?”
Lando sighs, opening his eyes gently. The lights above him swirl, the chandelier glinting wickedly. It's better than gazing into wide green eyes that know more than they should.
“I don't know. He's nice. Stable, kind, beautiful. He's no super-model like you, or particularly ethereal like George but he's honestly more beautiful than either of you. When I'm with him..I don't know. I feel like I'm on top of the world.”
“He sounds lovely.” Charles admitted, eyes glistening in a manner all too distracting. But there's something else on Lando's mind, something that's been bugging him for a while now.
Something that Oscar's been asking him for a while now. Something he's been asking himself for a while now.
“Charles, how did you know you were in love with Max?” Lando finally questions, before immediately rushing to remedy his mistake. “I'm not asking to be cruel, I just…you were the two people I was sure loved each other. I always wanted something like what you two had.”
Charles smiles faintly, his eyes going distant. When he speaks, it's with reverence. “I never really had a moment when I knew I loved him. I guess it was just something I always knew. When I told him I loved him, I didn't even know I was telling him. He'd said something stupidly sweet, and I told him I didn't know why I loved him and he just…stopped for a second, and then he continued. I only realised what I'd said after he left.”
Lando laughs gently. “Sounds like Max.” He stops for a second, before continuing. “I'm sorry. Does it…when did it stop hurting?”
Charles sucks in a sharp breath, before turning on his back as well. The mattress was plush underneath Lando's back, and yet it had never felt more foreign. How strange. Once upon a time it had been Charles struggling to pay the bills and Lando who lived in blissful ignorance and blind wealth. Once upon a time it had been Charles in love and Lando struggling to get over someone.
“It never stopped hurting, Lando. Sometimes I wake up and it feels like it never will. And maybe it won't. But what's done is done. He made his choice, and I made mine.” Charles admitted, his voice raw. Lando feels a sudden wave of respect for the boy-the man next to him. Alex is right, in the end. Charles had to work the hardest to get where he was. He deserves to be proud, to brag.
“We both made our beds. We have to lie in them now, separately."
“But you loved him.” Lando states and he feels like a child struggling to grasp a concept. But love has never come as naturally to him as it did to Charles, who loved with all his heart and everything he had in him.
“Yeah, I did. Sometimes, loving someone just means letting them go.”
“Should I let Oscar go?”
Charles lifts himself up, and turns to stare at Lando with a raised eyebrow. “So you love this ‘Oscar’ guy?”
Lando flounders, his cheeks flushing red at the audacity. He grabs the nearest pillow and smacks Charles in the face with it. The Monègasque goes down without a struggle, cackling in delight.
“Okay, I'm sorry-! Does he want to be let go, Lan? Or do you think you should let him go?”
“He's sweet, Charles. So sweet, and kind and stable. And he isn't like us. He's normal. He's middle class, he has a normal family and he works a nine-to-five. Not the glamorous, legally-blonde version of a nine-to-five like yours, but the kind that pays the bills and lets him live a bit. He's never been to any other country but Australia and the United States. He won't know…how to cope with this. Cope with us.”
Charles settled down upright, legs crossed with a pillow in his lap. “I was middle-class, hell, I was lower middle-class. I was normal too, Lando. I dealt with you guys all the time while barely having a cent to my name. Give him some credit.”
“Yeahl you were normal, Charles. And look what Max did to you. I don't…I don't want to be another Max, Charles."
Charles simply smiled, his expression soft and open. At that moment, Lando knew that no matter who Max married, no matter who he fell in love with again, he would never find anyone like Charles Leclerc. “The fact that you acknowledge you don't want to be like Max Verstappen anymore, who was your idol back then, tells me all I need to know. If he wants you, Lan, let him want you.”
Charles blinks, and his eyes go distant again. Like he's reminiscing of their times at St. Peter's. As he shifts, Lando becomes aware of a crucifix around Charles’ slender neck. Charles still worships, still believes in a god.
“Don't let my example influence your life, Lando. I got hurt. But that hurt, it made me stronger. I'm fine now, chéri. I was always made of tougher stuff than George.”
“You were made of tougher stuff than all of us.” Lando finished. Charles grinned, before climbing to his feet and throwing the pillow at Lando's face. The fluffy feather-monstrosity smacked him in the face, socking his nose with surprising force. Lando groaned, head falling back as he pushed the pillow off of him to watch Charles sway away and out of the door.
“Goodnight, Lan-!”
Charles called out, his voice bright and cheerful. Lando laughed as the two idiots on the other side of the wall finally realised that Charles and Lando were still up and stopped arguing.
“Hey Charles?” Lando called out, turning over to his stomach, muffling his voice into the pillow underneath.
“Yes, Lando?” Charles questioned from the doorway, about to close the door and head off to his own room presumably.
“You were the best thing to happen to Max Verstappen. And he knows it.”
The door clicks shut.
-
“Charles-! Charles, wait up-!” Lando called out, weaving through clusters of students walking through the hallways at the pace of the actual fucking snails that the French enjoyed eating so much.
“Charles-!”
The head of brown hair ducks into an empty hallway, presumably to get away from Lando's attempts at talking, but Lando's known Charles for three years by this point. He knows where the brunette hides, where he goes when he's feeling overwhelmed, where him and Max used to make out.
He rushes after the other, eventually catching up and reaching ward to grasp at his shoulder, only to get thrown off with a violence Lando has never seen in Charles.
“What do you want, Lando-! Can you not just leave me the fuck alone? Putain-!” He hisses out, eyes enraged and fluffy hair flying in every direction. There are dark circles under his eyes, and his stubble isn't nearly as well shaved as it always is.
“Why are you acting like this? George fucked up, not me Charles. I didn't know, I swear-! Alex didn't either, I don't know why you're acting like this towards us!”
“Brcause all you are, Lando, is a spineless asshole! Maybe you were not the one who did it, or maybe you did not know, but you still talk to them after what they did.”
Lando blanches, rearing back as if struck. “He's my friend, Charles.”
“So was I, Lan. You knew what he did, what they did, and you still talk to them. You can talk about rebelling all you want, but at the end of the day, you still walk to his tune. And one day, he is going to do to you what he did to me. And you will regret ever befriending him. This is what he does, Lando. And when I needed someone, anyone to choose me, you chose him.”
“He's my friend.” He whispered, taking a step back. He knew Charlss had been saddened, upset enough to request a dorm change last week. But he had never been on the receiving end of the Monègasque's fury. Hell, he'd never seen the other angry.
“Yes, well. If you choose to associate yourself with him after what he did…maybe you aren't as different as you wanted me to believe. You may not be a slave to money, but you are still a slave to George Russel.”
Charles snarled at him, his eyes trailing over Lando's figure dismissively.
“Go and report to your master. Maybe I was the only one out of us three who had the balls to stand up to your precious king.”