Archive of Our Own

If anyone asked, Lando would tell them this was not a regular occurrence.

He would be lying.

Admittedly, it wasn’t usually quite this bad but maybe there was a pattern.

He had spent the last four days wallowing in his apartment, away from the anxiety inducing mess that was the outside world and away from people he could potentially run into in said outside world. Charles had dropped by once to deliver him his mandatory sad post-breakup ice cream and Lando had ranted to him for three hours, curled up on the sofa and hiccuping profusely between sobs. He remembered clutching the ice cream tub like a lifeline, managing to somehow eat the entire thing while an episode of ‘How I met your mother’ was paused five minutes in on the TV.

George and Alex had suffered through three - truly horrible, even by his standards - hallmark Christmas movies with him and it was February. But they hadn’t complained once, which was truly a testament to how great friends they were. They had even brought him hot chocolate from his second favourite café in the city, because he couldn’t think of his favourite one without wanting to cry again.

He had cried anyway.

Today however, he had spontaneously rediscovered his will to live -at half past 11 pm that was- and with it, his will to move on, get his shit together and triumph. And how does one start such an endeavour?

With change.

In simpler words: he’d started reorganising his flat.

Two hours, one completely redesigned bedroom (read: the bed now stood approximately 80 centimetres more to the left, against the wall, because he was single and thriving), one moved sofa, one moved TV and one moved shelf later, he had found himself sitting on the floor, back against the newly positioned sofa and legs angled, knees pointing toward the ceiling.
Curiosity had gotten the better of him and he simply had had to know why past-Lando had felt the need to keep a ‘Happy 22nd Birthday!’ card (he hadn't even lived in this flat when he’d turned twenty-two) with a qr code stuck to the front and an ominous note that said, “This will change your life!”.

At this point of the evening, Lando didn't know a lot any more, but he did know, that that was exactly what he needed. Something life-changing.

Though, he hadn't expected the qr code to lead to a recipe of ‘The best homemade French Ratatouille (Original-classic)’ and was subsequently a little disappointed when he recognised Yuki's scrawny handwriting just a few seconds later. Of course Yuki had ‘gifted’ him a recommendation for food that he had to cook himself for his 22nd Birthday. Figures.

Apparently Yuki had also gifted him twenty pounds for his 22nd Birthday, he realised -much more gleefully- when he opened the card. Mint.

Maybe this was a sign from the universe? Twenty pounds had to be enough to get the ingredients for Ratatouille, even in this economy, right? He was 25, single, thriving and absolutely able to cook healthy, grown up, French-sounding food for himself. Right. And he was going to prove it.

So he had stood up, newfound vigour guiding him to his kitchen, and opened the pantry to see what he would need to buy.

The answer, apparently, was everything.

That was why he now found himself standing in front of the canned tomatoes at his local 24 hour grocery store. At two am. Considering whether he should buy whole tomatoes, crushed tomatoes or tomato puree.

Just because he had forgotten the existence of some three year old birthday card.

At this point, we’re choosing to ignore the fact that Lando had also completely forgotten -and recently rediscovered- the existence of several other things. Namely, a blinking princess crown, he'd found in a shoebox under his bed and promptly put on to wear for the entire redecoration process of his bedroom, as well as a surprisingly cosy pair of socks with a print of his face that he’d apparently shoved under his living room shelf because he’d never wanted to see them again. They'd been a gift from Max, who thought he was the funniest secret Santa in existence for giving Lando nightmares about his face on feet.

He’d also found great joy in a little rubber duck with a fancy little party hat and not so great joy in a pack of chocolate flavoured condoms, he really had no recollection of acquiring. At all. Which was kind of concerning if he thought about it for longer.

Though that hadn’t stopped him from ripping one open and reluctantly sniffing at it, only to find out they really did smell of chocolate. He didn’t know what he had expected but he was a little let down nonetheless. Anticlimactic.

He’d refrained from further investigating and performing a taste test, instead opting for the only sane thing to do, which was throwing the condoms in the nearest bin. Like a person with common sense and a life expectancy of over 27.

Back to the present. ‘Last Christmas’ was playing through the speakers and it was still February. Lando was also still standing in front of the shelf of canned tomatoes, looking accusingly at the recipe open on his phone, which still didn't specify the type of tomatoes he was supposed to use. It couldn't be that important then, he decided, and grabbed two cans of chopped tomatoes to put in his basket.

Next up, one eggplant. Only when he was already walking toward the vegetable section did it occur to him he didn’t actually know what an eggplant looked like. He'd just have to google it then.

He unlocked his phone again and turned the corner, not actually looking where he was going. It was 2 am on a Tuesday (technically a Wednesday if you were hung up on technicalities, which Lando was not) and he was yet to see another person besides the annoyed looking cashier at the front, who he had pre-emptively judged for playing candy crush on her phone. Pre-emptively, because it wasn't actually candy crush but Clash Royale. He'd recognised the sounds when he'd walked by earlier.

But assuming he was the only person who needed eggplants at two am on a Tuesday seemed to have been a gross misjudgement on his part, which he realised approximately three seconds later when he ran straight into what had to be the human embodiment of a brick wall.

Condoms.

Was the first thing his very helpful brain came up with.

Huh?!

He blinked.

Chocolate.

Oh.

But he didn’t have time to lament the fact that there was now an irreversible association between condoms and chocolate in his head, as the human brick wall took one step back and eloquently said, “Chocolate?”.

Oh, so he must have said that out loud then. Shit. Hopefully he'd kept the condom part to himself.

He looked at the stranger, neck tilted ever so slightly upward so they were standing face to face. Fuck. “Oh uh… I'm sorry- Really. I didn't see where I was goi- I needed to look up- uh- eggplants because, you know, I didn’t know what they look like,” Lando rambled, desperately trying to convey some of his jumbled thought process to the person he’d just ran into face-first. He frantically waved his phone in front of the other man’s face, now open to a Google tab with ‘Egg’ typed into the search bar, in an attempt to make him understand. He needed him to know this was an accident. And apparently, his brain had decided he also needed him to know how urgently important Lando’s quest to identify an eggplant was.

The stranger was still looking at him rather bewildered.

“And it uh- smells like chocolate?” he added uncertainly, internally cringing at himself.

“Right.” The stranger blinked. “It's uh- chocolate flavoured deodorant. Was the only one I had left.” Huh, Aussie accent. Cute.

Stop. Not the time.

The Aussie’s brows furrowed, Lando's words seemingly catching up to him. “Wait, you don't know what an eggplant looks like?”

“No?” Lando said tentatively. Should he? Was that an important thing to know? He wanted to make Ratatouille, not be judged for his knowledge on the physical properties of vegetables. Or apparent lack thereof.

The other man tilted his head slightly and looked at him incredulously. “Like- purple, round-ish, shaped kinda like-” He started to gesture with his hands but seemed to think better of it and let them drop to his sides again. Lando thought he was blushing a little. “Never mind mate, I'll show you.”

He turned on his heel and gestured for Lando to follow him. He did, trailing behind the stranger, a little stunned.

They came to a stop suddenly, in front of an assortment of vegetables and Lando just barely avoided crashing into the other man again. He took a step to the side, eyes following the Aussie's outstretched hand where he was pointing at a sign that said ‘Aubergine’.

“That says aubergine,” Lando voiced.

“Yeah, eggplant, aubergine… same thing. You know, like zucchini and courgette? Semantics.”

Lando looked at him. No, he did not know and he was starting to get a little suspicious.

“Really?” He asked, voice laced with doubt.

“Yes. Why the hell would I lie about that?”

“I don't know, funny prank? ‘Told a guy at the store today that eggplants and aubergines are the same thing haha, you'll never guess, he actually believed me',” he mimicked. “I don't even know your name.”

The stranger now looked very much like he was actively considering slamming his head into the nearest wall.

“My name is Oscar,” he said, his voice taking on a more insisting tone, and pointed at a purple vegetable above the ‘Aubergine’ label, “and that is an eggplant.”

“Okay Oscar,” Lando responded, “my name is Lando and I'd still really like to Google it.”

That drew a small laugh out of the stranger -Oscar-, who'd apparently resigned himself to his fate (arguing over the proper semantics of vegetables with some guy in a Tesco) and shrugged.

“Be my guest.”

Lando gingerly opened his phone again and typed in ‘Eggplant’. To absolutely no-one’s surprise but his own, the images looked exactly like the vegetable Oscar had pointed at mere seconds before.

“Satisfied?” Oscar asked, looking at his screen from over Lando's shoulder.

“I guess I can trust you then,” Lando begrudged and took an eggplant -aubergine?- (whatever) from the display. “So courgettes you said? I need two of those.”

Oscar, having seemingly accepted his new role as vegetable consultant turned on his axis and scanned the shelves before pointing to somewhere behind Lando.

“There.”

Lando turned as well and saw a shelf with what he would pretty confidently say were courgettes. He did know what those looked like, thank you very much.

He flashed a smile at Oscar before making his way over and putting two of them into his basket.

“If you don't mind me asking, what exactly do you need an eggplant and two zucchinis for at two am on a Wednesday?”

Lando shot him a look. “I was gonna cook.” Obviously?

“Right.”

“Ratoutille,” he clarified.

“What?”

“Rotatoille.”

“Ratatouille?”

“Yeah that. Whatever.”

Oscar looked at him, bemused. “And why did you need to do that now, of all times?” he asked, still looking amused and a little intrigued. Lando was hit with an image of Oscar shooting a pointed look at his imaginary watch. He kind of seemed like a guy to carry a pocket watch around.

Lando was back to thumbing on his phone, opening the recipe again to check what he had to get next. He had half a mind to tell Oscar to mind his own damn business but thought better of it. Weirdly, he was enjoying their odd little interaction.

Maybe it was something about how the supermarket felt like its own small little world, near-deserted in the middle of the night and somehow separate from the rainy London outside, or maybe it was because Oscar was the first person in days who didn't look at Lando like he was fragile, like he needed to be pitied.

The fact that Oscar wasn't bad on the eyes certainly didn't hurt as well. His full mouth was still stretched into a smile and his hazelnut eyes twinkled with amusement, some strands of his brown, swooshy hair falling into his face. Lando had to suppress the sudden urge to reach up and tuck them behind his ears. Be normal.

Right, back to the present.

“Because it's life changing,” he said, stupidly.

Oscar tilted his head again, not unlike he did just a few minutes prior during their eggplant debate. His forehead was scrunched a little, sprouting a confused look that prompted Lando to elaborate.

“I needed a life change,” Lando added, realising too late, that it didn't actually help explain anything.

“Okay…,” Oscar shrugged, “If you say so. Life changes really don't sound like the worst plan right now.”

Lando arched an eyebrow. “So why are you here then? Judging my midnight snack plans…” While asking he realised that he was genuinely curious. Maybe Oscar's reason to go on a grocery trip at two in the morning was equally as bizarre as his own. Sensible people generally did their shopping at daytime, so Oscar couldn't be all that sensible either, Lando concluded.

He took that moment to examine Oscar more closely, noting a can of Monster and some bananas that Oscar was clutching in his left hand.

The contents of Lando's basket definitely looked healthier, he decided, feeling a little proud of himself.

Oscar just sighed deeply, pain flashing briefly in his eyes, like someone had reminded of a particularly annoying assignment he'd just managed to forget about. “My room mate has his boyfriend over.” He winced. “Let's just say, the walls are thin and they have a lot of stamina.” A panicked expression entered his face and he shook himself briefly, as if to get rid of the memories.

“Oh.”

Lando grimaced, looking down. “Sorry about that.” He looked up again and found himself staring directly into Oscar's face.

They held eye contact for a few moments, neither of them saying anything. Then, he could see Oscar's face transforming at the same time as his own, fighting to keep the corners of his mouth down and pressing his lips together.

He broke.

They both burst out laughing, Lando cackling so hard he almost dropped his basket.

“Is my misery entertaining to you?” Oscar asked, playfully offended, but still sprouting a stupid grin.

“I'm sorry,” Lando huffed, in between laughs, “it's just your face-,” he took a deep breath to steady himself, gripping onto the rack behind him.

“You looked so…,” he paused, searching for the right word.

“Traumatised?” Oscar offered.

“Perturbed!” Lando exclaimed, grinning. “You looked like a soldier with PTSD having battle flashbacks.” He tried his best to mimic the look but was fairly sure he wasn't doing it justice. Oscar rolled his eyes and made a soft “pfff” sound. “You could argue I am a soldier with PTSD… But instead of fighting the battle I am running away from it. To a Tesco… I really need to reflect more on my life decisions.”

Lando mmhed. He didn't really have a leg to stand on when it came to sensible life decisions. He was here too, after all.

He took Oscar in a little closer, letting his eyes wander over the other man. He was wearing a comfortable-looking pair of black sweatpants and nondescript white trainers. A maroon shirt clung to his skin, a little tight around the chest area and his arms were covered by a standard rain jacket, that was mandatory if you lived in London at this time of year. Or at any time of year, really. His hair was a little rumpled, Lando noted. Not obviously so, because of its soft floppiness, but noticeable if you looked closer.

And Lando did. Look closer, that is.

He also noticed a backpack slung over Oscar's right shoulder. “So what are your plans now?” Lando prodded, looking pointedly at the Monster and bananas still clutched in Oscar’s hand. “Gonna wait it out in the supermarket? You can join the cashier in playing Clash Royale.”

“Yeah right,” Oscar laughed, eyes crinkling with humour.

‘Huh, he actually thinks I’m funny,’ Lando thought, stupidly. He had to physically stop himself from breaking out into a delighted grin. He'd met the man twenty minutes ago, he needed to get a grip.

“No, I was just gonna get something to help me stay awake and see if the student library is still open.” He shrugs again. “Sometimes it is, we're all a little fucked up and trying to meet deadlines.”

“Tell me about it,” Lando leaned forward slightly to underline the sentiment. “I study journalism and Professor Button is going crazy with the deadlines. Our last assignment was due at 3:57 am on a Thursday. I genuinely think he's rolling dice each time he's setting one.”

Oscar snorted. “I'm in engineering, I think professor Webber would have an aneurysm if he had to set the deadlines to anything but 12 am on the dot.”

Engineering. So hot and smart.

Lando internally sighed.

He moved to answer, stupid joke already at the tip of his tongue when he trailed off. He could feel his brain rummaging, trying to remember something that he knew was somehow important right now. It was like listening to a soft wind chime in the distance, quiet and far away but definitely there.

His eyes went wide when he finally remembered. Oscar seemed to notice, looking at him inquiringly.

“Oscar mate, the library is closed. My friend got kicked out earlier.” Alex had mentioned it in passing, when they had spoken on the phone. He had wanted to check up on Lando, asking if he needed anything from the store and if he was doing alright, because Alex was just such an annoyingly caring friend. (”Alex stop pestering me, I'm not gonna kill myself if you leave me unattended for more than two hours.”)

At the time Lando had been doing ‘fine’ (in a way that meant he was still just barely coping) and he had not needed anything from the store. That placed the phone call distinctly before the (re-)discovery of the ratatouille recipe, as well as his sudden realisation that he had, in fact, a life and subsequent decision to reorganise his entire flat.

So sometime around 10 pm probably. Maybe 10:30.

Oscar deflated a little before dropping his head into his hands and letting out a dramatic groan.

“Shit.” He said, letting his hands drop. He looked up at the ceiling instead, looking as if he was hoping for some kind of divine intervention.

Maybe he was willing Zeus to strike him down and end his misery, in which case Lando was an unwilling and innocent bystander and did not have anything to do with Oscar's untimely demise. He caught himself checking for security cameras just in case. Claiming divine punishment in court would probably not hold up without direct evidence and he did not want to go to jail for a murder he hadn't committed.

He was brought back to reality by Oscar, who let out another string of -actually pretty colourful- curses.

“Maybe I will need to bond with the cashier over Clash Royale then.” He sighed, a faraway look in his eyes. “There's no way in hell I'm going back to that apartment,” he muttered.

Lando considered. “It can't be that bad, right? Like, what do you usually do? Surely, that's not the first time?” he asked, risking a glance at Oscar who was back to looking thoroughly traumatised.

“Nah mate, you don't understand. They haven't seen each other in two months because his boyfriend was overseas or something and on top of that my headphones are dead. It is that bad.” Oscar was looking a bit frantic now, emphasising his words with hand movements.

Lando narrowed his eyes. “Seems to me like you are having suspiciously bad luck. Have you read your horoscope for this month?” Oscar looked at him, utterly lost, but momentarily distracted from his panic. “What?”

Lando inclined his head and decided to specify, “Was there anything suspicious in your horoscope today? Something hinting at this stroke of bad luck, a warning maybe?”

Oscar continued to stare at him, blinking uncomprehendingly as if Lando had grown a second head.

“My horoscope…today?” He questioned, a little unsurely. “Mate I don't think I've ever read a horoscope.”

Lando gawked at him. So Oscar was a sceptic. Or just uneducated. He could work with that.

“Yeah okay we can’t have that,” he decided, hoping he exuded an air of finality. There was no room for discussion when it came to the relevance of horoscopes.

“You will help me find-” he glanced at his phone, still open to the ingredient list, “uhhh- onions and garlic. Right. And I will pull up your horoscope for you.”

Oscar let out a little laugh, an unbelieving look grazing his face. He narrowed his eyes at Lando, examining. After a moment, he had seemingly found what he was looking for because he shrugged and went along with it, gesturing to Lando's phone.

Lando, who was already in the midst of pulling up his most trusted horoscope app looked up when he saw Oscar starting to walk away. “Hey, where're you going?” he squawked. Had he managed to scare away the Aussie after all?

“Onions are this way, come on.” Oscar beckoned, nodding his head in a motion for Lando to follow him.

“Oh.”

Lando experienced a sudden moment of wonder before a bashful grin spread on his face. He followed.

In the meantime ‘Horoscopia daily’ had fully loaded, the start page showing an array of differently coloured little symbols of every zodiac sign.

“What's your sign?” Lando asked when he caught up with Oscar.

“Aries,” Oscar said, after a short moment of hesitation.

Lando clicked on the little Aries icon and then on ‘today’. A framed text appeared on his screen.

“I got it, okay.” He looked up and saw Oscar in the middle of examining a bunch of onions. He was weighing one in his hand, prodding at it and seemed to be considering. Lando thought he looked way too focused for what the situation warranted. He clicked his tongue and stopped himself from impatiently tapping his foot against the supermarket floor.

After what felt like minutes (it was 10 seconds maximum) Oscar seemed to have taken his pick, dropping an onion into Lando's shopping basket.

“Do you only need one or- ?” he asked, already turning back to the shelf with onions.

“Oscahh,” Lando cut in, surprising himself a little with how natural it felt, “This demands your full attention.”

Oscar turned to him, rolling his eyes, but a smile grazed his lips. “Okay, go on then.”

Lando cleared his throat. “’Today might start of disappointingly but you must persist as new beginnings are in sight. You should take opportunities as they come and not be afraid of a little risk, for today your seductive powers will be at their maximum. If you have wishes or desires, this is the time to express them. You need only give voice to what you want and let your charm do the rest.’,” Lando finished of with a twisty hand gesture.

It was only when he chanced a look at Oscar again, did he realise the other man was -honest to god- cackling. Bent at the hip, leaning over the onion rack he looked back at Lando, a bright and joyful grin sprouting on his face. He looked thoroughly entertained.

“Mate this is the best thing I've heard all day,” he huffed, in-between laughter. “My ‘seductive powers’?” he asked, an incredulous look on his face.

Lando clutched his chest in over exaggerated theatrics. “Are you doubting my horoscope?”

Oscar looked at him his smile growing wider, another expression entering his face, that Lando couldn’t quite pinpoint. He’d recovered enough to return to an upright standing position. Rude.

“Depends, you think I’m looking seductive?” Oscar asked, gesturing down at himself, still clad in sweatpants and the maroon shirt, he’d obviously intended to wear to bed. Lando guessed he was aiming for a laugh. For Lando to take one look at his sleep-worn outfit and agree how absurd the thought of him looking any close to ‘seductive’ was.

Unfortunately, Lando was of the opinion that the universe had hit the nail right on the head. That stretch of his T-shirt was doing something to Lando’s brain and in the privacy of his own head he could admit to himself that ‘seductive’ was definitely one way to describe it. ‘Hot’ was another one.

He buffered. “Maybe not intentionally…,” he said, letting the sentence hang in the air unfinished.

Oscar raised one eyebrow, face betraying slight surprise but not aversion. “Oh yeah?” he let a small smile curve his mouth.

Lando had to will down the blush threatening to rise to his cheeks. Were they flirting? Was Oscar flirting with him? Whatever was happening, he was not complaining.

“What’s next?” Oscar asked.

“Huh?”

“On your list, what’s next?”

“Oh, uh, garlic.” Yep, garlic. For his ratatouille. That he was gonna cook. Right.

They found the garlic quickly. Oscar performed yet another quality check, as he’d done with the onions, before he told Lando to check that of his list as well. Lando had half a mind to tease him for it, earning him a slight shake of the head and a quip (”If you want rotten garlic that badly, you can pick that out yourself.”).

They did the rest of Lando’s grocery shopping together. When recounting it later, Lando would say that Oscar had tagged along with him through it, but really, the Aussie was the one leading the whole operation. He explained to Lando what he should pay attention to when picking out bell peppers -apparently they should be a little heavier than they looked and make a crisp, hollow sound when tapped- and berated him for having neither olive oil nor tomato paste at home (“How the hell do you cook?” “Uh…I don’t?” “Should’ve guessed that, really…”).

When they were stood in front of the herbs, Oscar deliberating how important half a teaspoon of lavender blossoms could really be, it occurred to Lando how much he was enjoying himself. He had to remind himself he was doing groceries with a man he had known for scarcely half an hour but the fact of the matter was that he was yet to think about anything that had kept him awake the last three nights since running into Oscar (quite literally). He didn’t even know his last name, this had no right to feel so stupidly domestic.

“Okay,” Oscar said from where he was crouched beside Lando, searching the herb rack, “no-one needs lavender blossoms anyway, we’d only be wasting money.” His hand accidentally brushed Lando’s side when he stood up, pushing himself off the floor and dusting imaginary dirt of his jacket. Lando’s heart thudded traitorously.

Thirty minutes, he reminded his brain, even though it felt like he’d known Oscar for much longer than that.

They moved to the cash register together, Oscar putting a divider between his Monster and bananas and Lando’s courgettes before helping him with the rest of his stuff. They paid separately but Oscar waited for him to finish up, the cashier taking her sweet time ringing up his groceries. Probably because she had nothing better to do. Not so eager to get back to Clash Royale then. Lando couldn’t blame her.

After he’d packed up, Oscar fell into step beside him. They stepped through the glass doors of the shop together, cool and rainy night air enveloping them. Lando stopped walking a few steps short of the kerb. He realised he didn’t actually think about where Oscar would go now.

Oscar seemed to follow a similar line of thought because he turned to Lando and smiled. “Well then, I guess you’re going home then,” he said. “It was nice getting to know you, I wish you good luck with your ratatouille,” he winked, “and thanks for the distraction.”

Lando wasn't sure what he'd expected. Of course they had to part ways now. He'd go home and Oscar… well Oscar would go some place else. But Lando had been starting to feel like this night really could mark the beginning of something new and it had nothing to do with the ratatouille he would probably burn and everything to do with the person standing in front of him. Oscar was still looking at him softly, a light smile grazing his lips and Lando felt a sudden rush of disappointment at the prospect of letting him go.

“Wait,” he rushed out, afraid Oscar would turn and dissolve into thin air before he had any chance to get a word in, “where are you going now? Library is closed, remember?”

“Yeah,” Oscar shrugged, “I guess I'll find some bar and wait it out, bless London’s nightlife. I should be fine going home in like- two hours?”

Lando narrowed his eyes. “You want to go sit in a bar like that-,” he gestured vaguely in the direction of the other's outfit, looking rather not-leaving-the-couch-on-a-Sunday-worthy than fit for going out. Not that Oscar didn't look good, God he'd already established the ‘seductive’ part earlier.

“No offence,” he tagged on quickly.

“Non taken.”

“And then you want to sit in the middle of people who are probably beyond pissed and maybe doing karaoke?”

Oscar snorted at Lando's mention of karaoke. “Well, ‘want’ is a strong word,” he grimaced slightly, “but it's not really like I've got other options you know?”

“You can come to mine.” Lando blurted out, before his brain had any chance to catch up with his mouth. He felt warmth creeping into his cheeks and prayed the lanterns on the side walk were too dim for Oscar to notice.

Oscar glanced at him, astonishment evident on his features. “You sure?” he asked tentatively. “This wasn’t- I didn’t mean to pressure you into anything, or guilt trip or whatever,” he trailed off, casting a glance at the floor before locking eyes with Lando again. “I mean, for all you know I could be an axe murderer,” he chuckled softly, “or I don't know- a stalker? A weirdo? A thief?”

Lando let out a laugh. “I really don’t have a lot you can steal, I’m a broke uni student, remember?” That he could even afford the rent of this place was only thanks to the financial support of his parents, he really ought to search for a room mate, now that moving in together with his ex was no longer in the picture. Mainly because his ex was no longer in the picture. Asshole. He continued on. “And if you’re a stalker, at least you’re a cute one. And helpful! Would not have found an eggplant without you. Top service, would recommend.” Lando shrugged, aiming for casual and not like he was trying very hard to get Oscar back to his apartment, which -after a quick debrief with himself- he realised, was exactly what was happening.

Shit, maybe he was the creep.

Oscar smirked, before his face fell a little, concern etched into his features. “You know, that's really not how you should approach the subject of a stalker. A stalker is still a fucking psychopath, even if he's ‘cute’. Or charming for that matter. A lot of known mass murderers where incredibly charming, that's how they got to their victims. You should really be a little more cautious, I mean it, you don’t even know my last name,” he rambled.

‘Damn,’ Lando thought, ‘he's hot and he is worried about me?’

It occurred to him, that was not really the takeaway Oscar had intended for but whatever.

“Well, then tell me your last name and swear to me you're not secretly some stalker person who's obsessed with me -even if that would be kind of flattering,” he trailed off.

Oscar rolled his eyes but Lando thought he looked rather fond. “You really didn't get the point… But ok, if you insist. My last name is Piastri and I swear on my childhood pet hamster named ‘Dash’ that I’m not ‘secretly some stalker person who’s obsessed with you’,” he quoted Lando’s words back at him, who broke out into a grin, face brightening. “Though that last part could be arranged,” he added, making eye contact and tilting his head slightly.

Lando’s brain shut down.

Was he being flirted with? He was definitely being flirted with. A faint buzz spread under his skin and he pressed his lips together to hide the giddy smile he felt threatening to break free at the realisation.

Score.

“Okay then, Oscar Piastri,” he said enthusiastically, “we need to turn left here.”

They walked side by side back to Lando's flat, talking about Oscar's childhood hamster and his obsession with RC cars and Lando's dream to have his own go-karting ring as a child. He was so engrossed in the conversation -and in stealing glances at Oscar- that he nearly missed a turn and would’ve straight up kept walking if he hadn’t caught the familiar street sign at the last second. When Lando had to admit they’d walked too far and begrudgingly told him they’d have to backtrack a little, Oscar made a low chuckling sound.

He tried not to overthink how that made him feel. He also tried not to overthink the exchange of casual touches between them. Lando grabbing Oscar by the arm to steer him in the right direction, holding on a little too long, walking a little too close. Oscar grabbing him by the shoulder so Lando wouldn’t step directly into a knee-deep puddle at the edge of the side walk. Lingering.

Lando had played it off with a joke about public endangerment (”We’re in London, this city should be proofed against dangerous side walk puddles! I’m not paying taxes for nothing.”) but really he’d tried to will down the heat rushing through his body, skin tingling faintly from the phantom touch he could still feel as if burned into his shoulder.

The walk felt simultaneously indefinitely shorter and longer than just an hour earlier, when Lando had been alone and he felt a dim kind of surprise when he stood face to face with his own front door, faintly wondering how he’d gotten there. “This is me,” he declared, nodding toward the wooden door. He stopped, fishing for his keys which he’d dumped somewhere at the bottom of his tote bag, which -in retrospect- was not his smartest idea because it was now filled to the brink with his groceries. He’d offered Oscar to dump his lacklustre purchases into it as well, but he’d refused, stating he could carry them by himself just fine.

After a bit of trying, Lando finally grasped the metal of his keys and triumphantly held them up for Oscar to see. “Ha!” he exclaimed, “I got them.”

“And here I was, worrying I’d have to sleep on the streets after all.” Oscar quipped, the corners of his mouth creeping up. “At least I would've had lovely company.” Lando studied him, arching an eyebrow playfully and letting his mouth drop in faux-pity. “Who said, I’d keep you company?” he challenged.

“Oh?” Oscar smirked. “Pray tell, where would you go then? Got another card up your sleeve?”

“Well,” Lando retorted, “I have something called ‘friends’. You know, people who like you enough to let you crash at their place for a night.”

Oscar laughed. An -honest to god- full body laugh, body bent slightly at the hip and hands resting loosely on his sides. Lando experienced a quick moment of extreme concentration in which he tried not to gloat too obviously at the fact that he had coaxed that reaction out of the beautiful boy in front of him. He was the reason for that laugh, that sound, that physical reaction. Him. Lando. No one else.

Wow, he was so normal about this.

But Oscar straightened up again and shot him a quizzical look, sincerity returning to his features. “Lando, you do know that I have friends, right?”

“Uhh…” Lando replied, stupidly.

“Like- you didn’t just offer me a place to stay because you thought I was some loner with no social connections beyond my uni professors?” He raised his eyebrows, an earnest look on his face, but Lando was reassured by the slight hint of amusement that still grazed his features. Honestly he hadn’t spared a second thought about whatever state Oscar’s social connections were in. Whether he had friends he could call for a place to stay. He’d just thought about prolonging his own time with Oscar. Trying to extend the moment, the feeling of contentedness, of light-hearted conversation and the novelty of Oscar’s eyes on him. How easy everything felt with him, as if they’d known each other for far longer already.

In typical Lando fashion, he tried playing it off with a quip. “Reaaaally?” he asked, drawing out the ‘ea’ sound comically and letting the playfulness return to his voice. He broke out into a smirk. “If you’ve got such a functional social network, why didn’t you ask one of your ‘friends’ if you could crash at their place?” He made air quotes around the word ‘friends’, for good measure.

Oscar caught on to the change back in tone quickly, making a show out of rolling his eyes, amusement fighting its way back to the forefront of his features. “Well, it’s called being a considerate friend. I don’t want to wake them up at fuck ass o’clock in the morning on a Wednesday. Apparently, unlike someone.” He glanced in Lando’s direction in an entirely over exaggerated manner.

Lando was quick to take mock-offence at that, retort already on the tip of his tongue before his brain caught up with all of Oscar’s words. “Wednesday mate? It’s Tuesday!” he exclaimed. Oscar furrowed his eyebrows. “Nah, it’s three am, that means it’s already Wednesday.”

They continued their banter up the staircase, Lando letting them into his flat after a very short amount of time spent fiddling with his keys because they just wouldn’t fit into the keyhole properly. When he finally pushed the door open, he froze for a second, taking in the state of the living room. It still looked pretty disorderly, random trinkets lying on the floor, leftover from his furniture rearranging session of the evening. At least there were no shelves in the middle of the room any more. It had definitely looked worse a few hours before, which was a small consolation.

“Don’t mind the chaos.” He shot an apologetic grin over his shoulder before shrugging out of his shoes and jacket, hanging it on the coat rack by the door. Oscar did the same. Then, Lando made his way through the room and into the kitchen, setting his bag down on the ground with a thump. “It’s all good,” Oscar responded, setting down his own groceries on the kitchen table. “I grew up with three sisters, our house was constantly in some state of chaos,” he added, grinning.

Lando grinned back.

They unpacked his groceries and he had to explain to Oscar that he did in fact not have a standard place where he stored his canned tomatoes, as a result of not buying them very frequently, thank you very much. It was light hearted banter, keeping them engaged as Lando spread out everything he’d bought on the counter. But the effects of severe sleep deprivation did catch up to him eventually and he had to suppress a number of yawns while doing so.

He blinked the sleep from his eyes. Typical. Couldn’t sleep for days and then, when he had finally regained some of his footing and wanted to do something, he was overcome with the sudden urge to drop dead in his bed and sleep for the entire day. He shut down the urge to roll his eyes.

“You sure you still want to cook?” Oscar asked. Maybe he’d caught on to whatever episode of sudden melatonin-rush Lando was having. “Yeah,” he confirmed after stifling yet another yawn. “I set myself a goal, I can’t just back out now, can I?” This was important to him, he realised. Somewhere along the way cooking ratatouille had stopped being about the food and started being about proving something to himself. It probably had been from the very beginning.

“If it’s important to you, go ahead” Oscar shrugged.

Lando nodded, decisively. “Okay then,” he said and pulled his phone out of his pocket again to pull up the recipe.

“Step one,” he read aloud, “cut all vegetables into medium-size dice.” He clapped his hands together in a motion he hoped came off as motivated and full of energy. “Okay!” He felt Oscar’s eyes on him as he grabbed the aubergine and a knife from the drawer and began dicing away. Did he know what exactly ‘medium-sized’ meant? No. Did he care? Also no. Whatever he decided now was medium-sized would simply become the new standard.

He got halfway through the eggplant until the fatigue caught up to him again and his hand slipped. Which was unfortunate, because he was currently holding a fucking sharp knife. He didn’t even have time to panic when the knife came down again and instead of burying itself in the aubergine, like he’d intended, the knife buried itself clean into the tip of his left index finger. Fuck. ”Ouch. Fuck. Shit.” Very eloquent.

Quickly, he dropped the knife, letting it clatter onto the cutting board, and frantically looked around for something to stop the blood flow. He could see the blood streaming out of the angry cut, dripping onto the counter and onto his freshly cut vegetable. Tissue paper, kitchen roll, anything. But before he could find something, Oscar was there, pressing a tissue into his hand, alarmed gaze trained on his face. “Here, take this.”

Lando took it without thinking, quickly pressing it to the bleeding cut. The white of the tissue paper was tainted red within seconds, the paper greedily soaking up his blood. Lando bit his lip as it stung. “Thanks,” he managed to get out through gritted teeth. He felt a hand on one of his shoulders and before he knew it, Oscar was steering him away from the counter, toward the kitchen table, pulling out a chair and guiding him gently into sitting down. “Shit, are you okay?” he asked, concern laced through his voice.

“I think so.” Lando answered tentatively. Stupid. He was stupid. Why had he thought this was a good idea? It was sometime after two in the morning on a weekday, he hadn’t left the house in days and he was completely exhausted. He was lucky Oscar was there, otherwise he really didn’t know what he would’ve done. Probably bled all over his kitchen tiles and then some. ”Is it deep?” Oscar asked, still standing in front of him. His stance and demeanour exuded calmness but the way his left hand fidgeted with the tissue pack betrayed his nervousness. “Think so, I’m not sure,” Lando answered, hesitant to lift up the tissue and check. ”Okay,” Oscar said, “do you have any band-aids?”

“There should be some in the bathroom cabinet, I’ll get them in a second.” Lando hoped there were actually some plasters left. Oscar shot him a weird look. “Let me,” he offered.

Oh. That was nice.

Lando pushed down the urge to deny the help, to say that it was fine, that he could get them himself. It was already at the tip of his tongue, like a pre-programmed answer. But Alex had been preaching to him about how he should accept help more often and not play tough every chance he got. That it was okay to not do everything himself and that he shouldn’t have guilt or inferiority complexes because of it (Lando thought that was exaggerated but whatever). And to be fair, his finger did hurt like hell and he wasn’t entirely sure he would make it to the bathroom and back alive, looking at today’s track record. ”Okay,” he managed, a little stunned. “It’s uh- it’s just down the hallway, very last door.”

Oscar nodded, placed the tissue pack on the table and turned around as if it was the most ordinary thing in the world, exiting the kitchen through the door and disappearing from Lando’s field of view. Lando could hear him walking down the hallway and opening the door to the bathroom. Now he was really hoping there were some plasters left. The least he needed was Oscar offering his help and spending 10 minutes looking through his cupboard in search of non existent plasters.

Lando stared at floor, worrying his lower lip between his teeth, trying to listen for any sounds Oscar made that indicated success. His focus was broken when he realised that the tissue Oscar had given him was almost completely soaked through with blood and he reached over to the pack to get a new one, grabbing one edge and shaking it out of the packet one-handedly before switching it out with the old one.

After what felt like an eternity he heard steps again. Oscar appeared in the door frame holding a pack of plasters. Thank fuck.

He walked back over to Lando and let himself drop into the other chair across from him, dropping the plasters on the table. “You can choose between race car themed and space themed band-aids,” he said, opening the pack and spreading its content on surface between them. Lando smiled. “Race car,” he decided, “that’s obviously the better choice.”

“Obviously,” Oscar echoed, a grin forming on his face. He took one of the plasters and pried it out of its packaging. “Give me your finger,” he instructed. Lando obliged and placed his left arm on the table, tissue still pressed tightly to the cut on his injured finger.

Oscar took Lando’s hand in his and Lando cursed himself as a fluttering sensation spread through his stomach. Oscar hand was warm and a little dry but soft. It felt nice.

“You could use some hand lotion,” Lando said in an effort to distract himself from how his heart was hammering against his rib cage. He was so chill about this. So normal and so chill. Exactly. Oscar shook his head, an exasperated but fond look on his face. “Right. Now hold still.” He took hold of the tissue still pressed to Lando's finger, considerably less soaked through than the last one, motioning for him to let go. In a careful motion he lifted it from the cut and examined the wound.

Lando watched as Oscar’s face scrunched up and his eyes flickered from the cut on Lando`s finger to the little plaster. “Do you have any bigger band-aids, maybe?” he asked, gently pressing the tissue on the cut again. Lando winced. “Is it that bad? Those are my only ones,” he admitted. Maybe he still had some in a forgotten corner somewhere in the depth of a drawer or in the chaos that was his basement, but that didn’t count. As far as he was concerned, he only had those. And those did not seem to cut it.

Ha. Cut it.

He was snapped out of his thoughts by Oscar. “Nah you’re goof, these things are just tiny. I’m pretty sure they’re for kids anyway. Do you have scissors?”

“Yeah,” Lando answered, gesturing to one of the kitchen drawers. “Should be in there.”

He watched as Oscar stood up, not before mandating tissue-duty to Lando again and sifted through the drawer, pulling out Lando’s kitchen scissors with a satisfied hum, a pensive but determined look in his eyes. He let himself drop back into the chair, taking two more plasters and proceeded to cut off two thin strips along the long sides of the plasters. Then, he peeled off the strips covering the sticky bits and very carefully stuck them together by overlapping them a bit, creating one continued wound pad. Lando watched in fascination, intrigued by Oscar’s quick handy-work.

And by the concentrated look on his face. Mostly that, yeah.

Seemingly satisfied with his creation he stretched out his arm, taking Lando’s hand into his again. He removed the tissue and carefully grabbed his plaster-creation, wrapping it around the finger with a gentleness that made Lando’s breath catch in his throat. “That should do.” His voice was soft. “I think the cut is pretty deep but it has mostly stopped bleeding.”

Oscar was still looking down at their entwined hands which was good because that meant he couldn't see Lando staring at his face, with an expression a bystander might describe as enamoured. Or dumbstruck. Or maybe both.

A bystander who didn't know Lando nor Oscar. A bystander who didn't realise they hadn’t even known each other for a full day yet.

He still felt the dull, pulsating pain where he'd cut himself earlier but it was distant, far away. Wrapped in a thick layer of fatigue, adrenaline and feelings, which created a dense, magical mist swirling around him and Oscar. Enveloping them as if it was creating its own little world.

He chanced a look at Oscar's face and froze when he saw the other man already looking at him. Lando didn't know what to say, what to do. It felt as if he was compelled to just continue watching Oscar, as if there was simply no other choice, nowhere else to look but into those warm brown eyes, regarding him with an openness that made Lando feel all warm inside. There was simply nothing to do but stare.

The moment was interrupted when Lando couldn't suppress his tiredness any more and let out a big yawn. Oscar pulled his hand away and Lando tore his gaze from his soft features, trying not to mourn the loss of contact. He cleared his throat, wiggling his fingers a little in demonstration. “Yeah,” he said, a little awkwardly, “all good.”

Oscar chuckled but it seemed stiff. There was a small pause.

“No offence but I don't think you should be doing any more cooking today,” Oscar said eventually, smile grazing his lips but his voice was earnest.

“Yeah you're probably right,” Lando admitted, letting his head slump onto his arm on the tabletop, dejected. He’d have to postpone his debut as a world class chef until tomorrow. It was disappointing and wholly unsatisfying but ultimately, Lando was a man of reason and could recognise his own limits. Alas…

He'd just closed his eyes again, ready to nod off right then and there when he felt Oscar's hand on his again, thumb brushing lightly over his knuckles. Within a moment he was wide awake, heart almost plummeting out of his chest and adrenaline production in full swing. Holy shit, this was not normal.

Slowly, Lando tilted his head, just enough to peek out of his little self-created fortress, blinking against the bright kitchen lights to catch a glimpse of Oscar.

Oscar who was looking at him, features displaying fondness and sympathy. “You should really go to sleep,” he advised, voice merely more than a murmur. Lando sighed. “I know,” he grumbled, dropping his head back onto his arm. Just a tiny bit longer. He wanted to cherish this feeling. Him and Oscar sat at his kitchen table while the world was sleeping. The cocktail of sleepiness, comfort and whatever he felt at Oscar continuing to stroke his hand was addicting and he wanted to draw out the moment just this much longer, soak it all up so he could replay it again and again, whenever he felt like it.

They sat like that for a few more minutes and Lando felt sleep slowly claiming him. Trying to drag him under.

“Lando.”

Lando sighed wistfully, dragging himself back into the world of the living. He nodded, grudgingly acceptant. “Okay.” Hesitantly, he raised his head and shifted back into an upright position, blinking against the harsh light. Suddenly, something struck him.

“Wait. You need to sleep as well,” he exclaimed, looking at Oscar in alarm. Suddenly, he was wide awake again. “I can't just leave you to die!” “I won't-” “Let me get a duvet and a pillow for you, you're sleeping on the sofa,” he talked over Oscar, not giving him a chance to butt in.

“You don't have to- I can go home if you want to,” Oscar retorted, always so goddamn polite. Well, Lando didn't really know if always, but it sure as hell felt like he did.

“No, no,” he refused. “If I let you go now, you will be murdered by a serial killer on the dangerous streets of London and it will be all my fault,” he envisioned, “I’ll probably have to identify your corpse, you can’t do that to me, Osc!” In reality his reasons were more selfish then he would like to admit. He didn't want Oscar to leave yet. Yes, also because he didn't want him walking back to wherever the hell he lived, all by himself in the middle of the night, but also because Lando, stupidly, still wasn't ready to let him go. The thought of waking up tomorrow with Oscar still there felt right. He wanted to extend this moment, this bubble they shared for as long as possible.

Thankfully, Oscar seemed to accept his explanation, or maybe he was influenced by Lando's half-joking guilt tripping. Whatever. Lando had succeeded at convincing him to stay. Great success.

He stood up, making a bee line for the hallway and his bedroom, which was surprisingly orderly right now, thanks to the earlier renovation action. He took a short moment to appreciate the new look of the room -yes, moving a single piece of furniture can change a space dramatically- before walking over to his drawer and digging out his backup bedding and a cover. With a triumphant grin, which might’ve come off as more of a slightly deranged smile in his fatigued state, he noted that the pillowcase and blanket cover matched.

His supplies in tow, he wandered back into the living room to set up camp for Oscar. Together, they prepared the bedding, finally spreading it out on the sofa once the covers were on. Lando took it upon himself to procure a glass of water for Oscar, setting it on the coffee table, and told him he could wake him up anytime if something was up.

“Yes, I know, if the kitchen spontaneously bursts into flames I will wake you up,” Oscar assured, sarcasm laced through his voice. Lando opened his mouth to add more but before a sound could leave his mouth, Oscar continued, more serious. “Or if I feel uncomfortable or if I’m too cold and need another blanket or if I can't find the light switches when I wake up in the dark.” Lando closed his mouth again and nodded, a little taken aback but satisfied. He nodded. “Yes, you got it,” he declared.

He yawned again. He was hesitant to go to sleep himself, leaving Oscar alone in his still-cluttered living room. He hoped Oscar wouldn’t trip over anything if he woke up in the dark and wanted to use the bathroom. A horrifying image in which Oscar tripped over the half rolled up rug and broke his arms, or worse, his legs flashed in Lando’s mind. Could he be sued for that? For negligence, maybe? But Oscar wouldn’t sue, of course he wouldn’t, and really that was not the point right now. He needed some sleep, desperately.

He decided to just rip of the band-aid (figuratively of course, not literally, that would not bode well for the cut on his finger). “Well then, good night. Sweet dreams.” He smiled at Oscar and turned to leave, back to his own room. Sleep. Yeah, that did sound good.

On his way through the door he heard Oscar call a soft response.

“Night Lando.”

-

The next day, Lando woke up with bright light shining through his window. Apparently, he’d not closed the blinds before going to bed, which was weird because that was one of the only few routines he actually stuck to. His throat was a little dry and fatigue still clung to him, blurring the edges of his vision, but all in all he felt good. Fit. Like he’d actually slept enough for a change. A quick look at the clock confirmed he’d somehow managed to sleep until eleven in the morning, which was impressive, especially without drawn blinds.

For a second, his tired brain lingered on the thought before he suddenly remembered. The nightly grocery trip, the failed attempt at cooking and most importantly, Oscar on his living room sofa. Within a few seconds he was out of bed, shuddering as his bare feet hit the cold floor, and out the door. Eleven am. Would Oscar even still be there? He had lectures, surely, and he didn’t seem like the type to miss them.

But when he arrived in his living room, approximately two seconds later -the flat really wasn’t that big-, he found Oscar still on the sofa, sound asleep. He let out a big breath as relief flooded his senses. He couldn’t exactly say why it was so important to him that Oscar was still here but the thought that he could’ve left while Lando continued to slumber obliviously in his bedroom made his insides clench. He stood there a for a few seconds, watching Oscar’s sleeping form on the sofa, bundled up in the covers as if he was trying to bury himself in them. Lando’s covers, his brain unhelpfully supplied.

He snapped himself out of it. He wasn’t some kind of creep watching other people sleep. So he turned on his axis and slowly trudged into the bathroom to get ready for the day. When he emerged a few minutes later he considered what to do next. Should he wake Oscar? Would that be the normal thing to do? Make sure Oscar wasn’t missing some highly important seminars required for his studies? Or would that be rude? Like he was passive aggressively trying to let Oscar know that he had overstayed his welcome?

He was just going to let him sleep for a while longer. Maybe he could make breakfast? He hadn’t had a proper breakfast in days, mostly having opted for some cereal, which considering the hour, would’ve been more like lunch anyway. But that was in the past now. Today he felt good, recharged. Yes, he decided promptly, he was going to make proper breakfast.

When he stepped into the kitchen he was confronted with two problems. First, the aubergine from yesterday was still on the counter. Still diced halfway and bloody and now a little dry too from having lain out in the open the entire night. Great. Secondly, the layout of his flat had not changed overnight and his kitchen was in fact still connected to the living room. And in contrast to the doorway to the hallway, the passageway did not have a door. Fuck.

He’d just have to be extra stealthy then. Whatever. He could do this.

As silently and stealthy as he could, he made his way over to the aubergine, taking a small bowl out of the cupboard above. He cleaned off the blood as best as he could, wincing at the reminder of his mishap. He tried not to get his plaster wet in the process but failed miserably, and threw away all the pieces that couldn’t be saved. Casualty assessment: six dice. So, all in all, not a great loss. See, he had a positive mindset.

Lando dumped the rest of the aubergine in the bowl and put it in the fridge, taking out the eggs in the same motion. Scrambled eggs. He could do scrambled eggs. Some would say he’d mastered them, even. He took out another bowl, cracking a few eggs and a bit of milk into it, whisking until he had an evenly coloured mixture.

Actually making scrambled eggs didn’t turn out to be a noisy affair at all. Really, all you had to do was let the eggs simmer and stir a little from time to time. What was noisy however, was getting the pan out of its drawer. Lando winced as he tried to free it from the iron cage of the pots and lids stacked on top, trying very hard not to disturb the various other gadgets stuffed into the same drawer without any order or sense.

Though he would say he managed to make remarkable little noise it did not seem to be remarkably little enough because a few minutes later, when the scrambled eggs were almost done, a rumpled and tired looking Oscar appeared in the passageway.

Lando glanced up from where he had been staring at the counter, spacing out while the eggs were setting (professionally spacing out, mind you, as professional chefs did). Turning toward him, he made eye contact with Oscar, trying to gauge the vibes.

Oscar, who was looking positively out of it -which Lando found (un)suprisingly attractive- but still smiling at him, as much as the world seemed to permit him to. “Mornin’” he grumbled, voice gravelly. Damn.

“Morning,” Lando copied, if a bit more awake. “Are you always this cheerful after waking up?”

Oscar looked a bit caught out, a sheepish look entering his features. “Yeahhh,” he stretched out the vowel, accent heavier than Lando remembered from yesterday. “I might not have slept too much these past few nights,” he admitted, inclining his head slightly, “Y’know, big assignment and all that.”

“Oh.” Yeah that checked out. He’d heard engineering was soul destroying in a particularly nasty way that included way too much work and way too few time to touch grass. Not that Oscar looked like someone who didn’t touch grass. Thankfully. “Well then I’m happy you got to make up for some of it then. Was the couch okay? Your back’s not fucked is it?”

“Nah, don’t worry, my back’s fine.” During their conversation, Oscar had meandered to the kitchen table, leaning against it. Lando had to turn away from him entirely to check on the eggs again. “Since when have you been awake anyway?” Oscar asked.

“Oh, not too long actually. I slept like a stone.” Probably thanks to you, but that’s incredibly stupid and a creepy thing to say. But Oscar’s presence was the only thing different about this night, compared to the last few, which had been absolute hail storms, in a negative sense. And he really had slept like a stone. Like a new born baby. Even though that comparison was stupid, if there was one age group who did not sleep easy, no matter the circumstances, it was new born babies.

Anyway. He finished up the eggs, snatching a coaster of of the shelf above him to place the pan onto the kitchen table. Oscar took the hint, stepping out of the way and asking where Lando kept his plates. Probably to set the table. “Sit down, you still look half-dead,” Lando told him instead, “I won’t have you dropping my kitchen utensils.”

“Me?” Oscar asked, raising a brow at Lando. Yeah okay fair.

“Shush.”

He sat down opposite Oscar and they ate the eggs with some leftover bread that Lando had dug out of his fridge. Yes, his fridge, thank you very much Oscar. It was quiet while they ate. A comfortable silence which really wasn’t silence at all. There was clattering from the cutlery and dishes, a pigeon cooing right outside of Lando’s open window and the low hum of traffic noise, which was inescapable in any big city.

Oscar finished his plate first, looking decidedly more chipper now that he’d had some sort of energy introduced to his system. He sat his fork down. “That was actually really tasty.”

“Tha-,” Lando was about to thank him when the phrasing caught up to him. He raised his eyebrow and playfully narrowed his eyes at Oscar as if he was a detective who’d just stumbled upon a big irregularity in his case. “’Actually’?” he repeated suspiciously, “what do you mean by ‘actually’?”

He saw the corner of Oscar’s mouth rise, no doubt suppressing a grin. The bastard. “I mean-,” he tried to defend himself, “ you didn’t even know what an eggplant was. You don’t have a designated place for canned tomatoes, you’ve got practically nothing edible in this kitchen and you said yourself you basically don’t cook. You got to admit, that’s not the best track record.”

Lando squawked, offended. He decided to dial up the mock outrage even more, for the bit. “Firstly,” he raised his index finger to underline his words, “I did know what an aubergine was, I just didn’t know what they looked like. Secondly,” his middle finger joined the index finger, “judging people because they don’t have a designated canned tomato place is stupid and you should rethink that method of evaluation.” He cleared his throat. “And thirdly, scrambled eggs doesn’t count as cooking and I’m a fucking master at it.”

There was a short pause in which Oscar said nothing, Lando looked at him, catching an unfamiliar look flit across his face. He wasn’t suppressing the grin any more. “Okay, okay,” Oscar conceded, finally, “I recognise your great scrambled eggs prowess, my lord.”

Lando tutted, shaking his head disapprovingly. “Oscahhh, you need to take this more seriously.”

They sat there for a little longer, just talking. Lando with one leg tucked beneath thigh, elbow resting on the table in front of him, Oscar leaned back in his chair, legs stretched out under the table, gesturing animatedly with his hands. It felt comfortable. The bickering came easy, like falling back into old habits, which was stupid because between him and Oscar and their shared 10 hours, there weren’t any habits to fall back into. It was strange, which was to say that it should’ve felt strange but it didn’t, which in Lando’s educated opinion was strange.

They talked about uni, about professors they both knew (”Vettel and Webber definitely have something going on, I just don’t know what.”) About their coursework and their aspirations beyond getting through university alive. They realised they shared some mutual friends (apparently one of Oscar’s best friends, Logan, had recently gotten to know Alex through their shared Taekwondo class) and had a similar taste in TV shows.

After some time they moved to the sofa, Oscar’s temporary bedding shoved to the side to make space for them. Lando scrolled through his Netflix account, discussing his most recently watched, which, embarrassingly, included all the sappy Christmas films he’d forced Alex and George into. “The Christmas Prince?” Oscar asked, incredulous, raising an eyebrow at Lando. “Don’t judge me! I was going through it!”

That conversation somehow led to him unpacking his recently processed break-up. Lando had since realised the most hurtful thing about it had been that he wasn’t the one doing the breaking up, but the one being broken up with. If he was being honest to himself it had been over for a while, he’d just gotten too comfortable with letting it fizzle out that actually doing something about it made it too real too suddenly. He told all this in great detail to Oscar, who, to his credit, seemed genuinely interested and did not channel his inner therapist like Charles had done, instead listening patiently. He shared his own story about how how his last relationship had ended and Lando listened intently, surprised about how much he was able to relate it to his own experiences.

They sat on the sofa similarly to how they’d occupied the kitchen table. Lando in a pile of limbs, left foot tucked underneath his right leg, which was similarly angled outwards, his arm draped over the backrest, switching between smashing his cheek against his shoulder and having his head raised. Oscar, with his legs outstretched, hands sporadically in the air. He was leaned back against the same backrest and Lando was acutely aware of the fact that his hand was resting just a few centimetres from Oscar’s head. Multiple times he had to stop himself from just reaching out and playing with the hairs at the nape of Oscar’s neck. Just a tiny bit to the right and he could ghost the tips of his fingers ever so lightly against Oscar’s skin-

Despite being frequently distracted Lando was able to continue being an active participant in their conversation and they quickly moved on from the topic of his Netflix shows. Somehow they rounded back to Lando’s astrology obsession. ”No but genuinely,” Oscar said, “you weren’t fucking with me about the zodiac signs and horoscopes, were you?”

“What?” Lando asked, offended, “I’d never fuck around about horoscopes!” He shifted on the sofa, fishing his phone out of the pockets of his sweatpants. “Here, I’ll read you yours for today as well. He inched a little closer to Oscar, trying not to overthink how close they were sitting now. How, if he leaned to the left a bit, his side would touch Oscar’s, how if he were to turn his head, there’d barely be any space left between their mouths.

Pulling up his horoscope app, he angled the phone so both of them could see the screen.

He selected the Aries tab and started reading out loud. “Today might start of disappointingly but you must persist as new beginnings are in sight. You should take opportunities as they come and- wait, this is the same as yesterday! What the hell!” Lando realised, outraged. ”I mean it is was already Wednesday…” Oscar pointed out, motioning somewhere into nondescript space, palm turned up. Lando rolled his eyes. “But yesterday was yesterday and today is today,” Lando retorted, “you see, can’t be the same day!”

Oscar chuckled. “Is this a thing we do then? Arguing about semantics?” He looked at Lando, a smile playing at his lips. Huh. “A thing we do…” Lando repeated, feeling heat rushing into his cheeks, “I guess so.” A warm feeling spread in his chest. It was funny. Natural. Arguing with Oscar about semantics. A ‘them thing’, apparently.

“Just read me your horoscope then,” Oscar suggested. ”Oscar!” Lando said, acting scandalised, “you don’t ask a guy for his horoscope before the first date!” Lando didn’t think he imagined Oscar faltering, seemingly thrown for a loop. Was he blushing? If he wasn’t so preoccupied with cringing at his own words he’d have more thought to spare about how cute Oscar looked right about then.

But the other recovered quickly, indignation taking over his features. “You literally read me mine in a grocery store after we had known each other for twenty minutes!” he said, exasperated, “don’t talk to me about etiquette!”

Lando giggled. “Yeah okay, maybe I wasn’t a real gentleman yesterday-” “You mean today?” That earned a disapproving look from Lando and a faux-innocent one back from Oscar. After a short stare down Lando relented. “Okay, we’ll just read mine then.” Switching to Scorpio, he cleared his throat and began to read out loud.

“Are you determined to win the affections of a special person?” his heart thudded traitorously but he continued on, “Have you devoted a great deal of energy toward that goal lately? Are you interested in reenergising your marriage? Today is extremely auspicious for love. Now is the time to flirt madly, write love letters, and take that walk down lovers' lane…”

He didn’t know if he’d succeeded at keeping his voice even while reading. He felt hot all over. Thank the heavens for his complexion, which was naturally a bit darker, otherwise he was sure he’d resemble a tomato right about now. A bit too on the nose, that. Did the universe have it out for him, calling him out like that? Mind your business, damn.

“Lando?” he heard Oscar say, something tentative laced through his voice. Worry? Caution? Lando looked up, eyes locking with Oscar’s. He didn’t even want to imagine what Oscar was seeing, looking at him. A bright and flustered mess? But it didn’t matter. Oscar was looking at him and he was looking back. Oscar was looking at him and he was so close, way closer than Lando had expected. “Lando?” Oscar repeated, but his voice was different, softer. His heart was beating erratically, so hard it could have powered the entire neighbourhood. Dimly, he noted his phone slipping out of his grasp, onto the sofa cushions. They were somehow even closer now, so close he could feel Oscar’s breath ghosting over his mouth.

“Lando?” Oscar’s voice had been reduced to a whisper, barely there, as if he was afraid any more would shatter the moment like a hammer hitting glass, “is this just because of the stupid horoscope? Because if yes-” “Oh god, just shut up,” Lando interrupted, bridging the last few centimetres separating them to connect their lips in a soft but sure kiss.

And to his credit, Oscar did shut up. The kiss deepened and he pulled Lando closer, one hand snaking around his shoulder, the other coming to rest on his thigh. Lando was all too happy to match his energy, finally being allowed to fulfil his earlier fantasy about ghosting his hands along Oscar’s neck, not missing the opportunity to tangle one of them into the thick brown hair, which was just as soft as he’d imagined.

The kiss got more heated, turning open mouthed rather quickly. They parted for air once but the pause was short lived as their mouths connected again just a short second later, continuing with the same fervour as before. Lando’s stomach swooped as Oscar’s hand, which was still resting on his shoulder, pushed him back, gently guiding him into a vertical position. Oscar followed suit, only letting their mouths part for the briefest time. Now fully on top of him, he kissed with newfound vigour and Lando was all to happy to match him step for step.

They continued making out leisurely on the sofa, having to part for air every so often. Eventually, they were both completely out of breath, breathing heavily against each other’s mouths. Still close. So close, Lando’s brain reminded him and his stomach did another somersault. He couldn’t suppress the grin starting to take over his face and the warm, giddy feeling in his chest only got amplified when he saw Oscar sprouting an equally big smile. Oscar turned onto his back, slumping down on the couch next to him and Lando let his head drop to the side, his eyes glued onto Oscar as if his life depended on it.

Oscar, who was still looking back.

They stayed like that for a moment, just existing.

Oscar chuckled. “Horoscopes and kissing before the first date…” he tutted playfully, voice low, “not very gentleman like.”
Lando giggled. “How scandalous. I guess we’ll have to make up for that as soon as possible,” he whispered.

“Oh?”

Lando spent a few moments pretending to think very hard. “You free this evening?” He got a raised eyebrow and a fond look. “Why, you got something planned?” Oscar whispered.

Lando felt the corner of his mouth rising up again, something smug spreading through his chest. “I could cook.”