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Summary
“I’m not helping you, mate,” Oscar says flatly, shoulder knocking into him as he swings himself by. Lando’s uncomfortably warm, the same pent-up feeling he always gets after a DNF, itching and aching and twitching. He’d be lying if he said Oscar didn’t just make him more hopeful.
“Please,” Lando says, but Oscar ignores him, bag swinging off his shoulder.
